#but you know it is part of the experience

[3liza]

i said this YEARS ago when the 'vibes based literacy" discussion started because i had been reading about dyslexia to try to help my partner at the time, who was undiagnosed: the book about dyslexia that i was reading described precisely the techniques used in the "contextual guessing" reading education system, but as dysfunctional adaptations by dyslexic children. the contect guessing and memorization thing is a way of teaching entire generations of children to be functionally dyslexic, a profound and devastating disability, when they do not have dyslexia and do not need to have it. it's horrifying. it was how my partner read things, and watching him try to read something out loud was extremely demonstrative of the struggle he was having.

ken goodman probably had dyslexia and didn't know it, it's the most common learning disability in the world, an estimated 20% of all humans on earth have some degree of it.

In the paper, Goodman rejected the idea that reading is a precise process that involves exact or detailed perception of letters or words. Instead, he argued that as people read, they make predictions about the words on the page using these three cues: 1. graphic cues (what do the letters tell you about what the word might be?) 2. syntactic cues (what kind of word could it be, for example, a noun or a verb?) 3. semantic cues (what word would make sense here, based on the context?) Goodman concluded that: Skill in reading involves not greater precision, but more accurate first guesses based on better sampling techniques, greater control over language structure, broadened experiences and increased conceptual development. As the child develops reading skill and speed, he uses increasingly fewer graphic cues.

he's completely wrong, this not how fully literate people read. this is how dyslexic people read. fully literate people are using phonics and the alphabet all the time, that's how we read so fast and so easily, even texts that we're unfamiliar with or that aren't in our native language. i can scan a page of italian, french or norwegian and get the gist of it even though i don't speak the languages. i can sound out those words and pronounce them, even if im pronouncing them incorrectly, just by reading the actual letters and phonemes.

relying on context to predict which word comes next is what leads to the kind of aphasia dyslexics often exhibit not only while reading, but when speaking aloud. my partner would swap words that were contextually correct but not what he actually meant all the time. for example if he wanted me to hand him a blue comb lying nearby on a table, he would say "could you please hand me the green brush?" or if he was describing a cat he saw, he would often swap in another contextually-related word, one that sounded the same, like "bat", or one that was conceptually related but incorrect, like "dog". as a result i had to ask him to clarify or repeat himself many times to figure out what he was trying to say. it created profound problems for him and separated him from me and everyone else. the worst part is that he was barely aware of this. when he was driving it was extremely difficult for him to follow or give directions because he would swap out "left" and 'right" randomly.

you cant actually read like this.

She thinks the students who learned three cueing were actually harmed by the approach. "I did lasting damage to these kids. It was so hard to ever get them to stop looking at a picture to guess what a word would be. It was so hard to ever get them to slow down and sound a word out because they had had this experience of knowing that you predict what you read before you read it."

[madabapf]

Part 21 First Prev

First Prev

pocket monkey king single handedly carrying the doomed gays🙏 (bc lord knows they wouldn't talk without an outer force... at least not in the good way-)

welp- and with that their drunken adventure comes to an end these dorks still got a long way to go, but they've come far for one day~

i'm sorry it's not the "grand finale" some of you might have been hoping for with them getting back together- still, i hope their journey of slowly growing closer again was enjoyable :) maybe one day i'll feel confident enough in my writing that i'll continue their story who knows

this was my first time ever doing something like this (if it wasn't obvious lmao) it's far from perfect but it was a very fun experience nonetheless :D this wasn't even meant to be a whole ah comic, i don't know how this happened tbh-

i still got a little bonus part up my sleeve tho so keep a lookout for that! also if there is open questions about what happend during/after the comic or "what if" scenarios that would interest you, i'd love to answer a few of those in comic form after the bonus is out :)

thank you everyone for sticking around and being so kind and supportive <3

[bambisnc]

𝖷𝖮 ♡ use me, i'll be your genie

                  ❪ ➴ ❫───엔하이픈; asking them to teach you how to kiss

ft. bsf!OT7 % hcs + 1.5k (180+ per member) && w. kiss talk ˖ ✧

♡ [ 1-800-XO HOTLINE ] : new layout #bless ++ no one talk to me ab this for 3 business days. but i do personally LOVE how this turned out icl

                  🔗. 𝗀𝗈 𝗍𝗈 𝘍i𝖫𝖤 ᰈ̠ 𝖭𝘈𝖵𝗂𝖦𝘈𝖳𝖤 ✮

이희승 — ❪ LEE HEESEUNG ❫  

౨ৎ as soon as he hears you casually bring up the question—a simple “so will you do it?”—heeseung responds with a flat out refusal. nope. no way. nuh-uh. 

it’s not like he particularly hates the idea of kissing you, hell, he’d be lying if he said the thought hadn’t crossed his mind a few (or slightly more than that) times. 

but … past experiences have made it plenty clear that the thin line between friendship and something more is delicate. one wrong move, one wrong act, and the entire dynamic could crumble.

when you huffily tell him to forget about it, wanting to keep some face, he immediately protests. 

“no wait! just... don’t ask anyone else to do it. if—if it has to be someone, i’d rather it be me.”

before the sentence is even finished, he’s closing the gap between you; hands cautious, touch careful.

heeseung’s lips brush against your jaw first, dipping slightly to the plane of your neck before tracing their way back up. if he has to do this he’ll do it right.

your breath catches and he pulls back, just barely, before looking at you to ask if you really want this. you can only hope the way your hands rest on his shoulder are enough to convey your yes.

zero palpable hesitation, his kiss drips with confidence. like he has a point to prove. like he’s decided that if you are crossing this line, it might just have been waiting for you both all along.

          ⋅ ˚ ଳ ₊ ‧ others utc

박종성 — ❪ JAY PARK ❫  

౨ৎ with one too many jabs about your "inability to pull bitches" and your "lack of rizz" from him, you will definitely be regretting your question within 10 minutes, tops. 

because of course jay’s first reaction would be to make fun of the fact that you actually have to stoop to the level of asking him for help. 

you try to huffily leave the rooftop at least thrice but he just laughs and tugs you right back to him by your sleeve.

before you know it, almost as if he hadn’t spent the last half an hour now teasing you unrelentingly, he casually leans in. 

shifting closer so imperceptibly that you don’t even notice at first, eyes skimming over your features, unreadable smirk ever present as he angles your chin towards him—mumbling a quick “no time like the present, yeah?”—and then he kisses you. 

no warning. no build up. just his mouth on yours, his touch patient but deliberate, with him simply choosing to allow his gentle actions to ease you into it. 

somehow, the silence letting you get lost in the moment is worse.

심재윤 — ❪ JAKE SIM ❫  

౨ৎ when what jake had originally imagined to be an ordinary study session at the library, ends up with you having him pressed up against one of the shelves, he really can’t be blamed for his flustered reaction. 

okay, so sure, maybe blushing and bursting into laughter right in your face at you asking him to teach you how to kiss wasn’t the most appropriate response. so, sue him.

and fine, maybe you didn’t mean to let it escalate this much. he’s now visibly bothered, ears pink, and hands twitching awkwardly by his sides. “y-you’re serious about this? really? i just thought—”

you weren’t serious. you swear it. you really only meant to tease him. but then his wide eyes fluttered down to your lips once, twice, and... really how could you be expected to stop after that?

“d'you still find this funny?” you can’t help but murmur, voice barely more than a whisper.

he just stares at you, mouth slightly parted, like he has something to say. you see the exact moment he decides to lean in—tentative, a movement laced with anticipation. 

and that’s exactly when you pull back.

“guess you’ll have to take this more seriously next time.” 

and then you’re walking off, leaving him standing there—flushed, stunned, and definitely no longer laughing.

박성훈 — ❪ PARK SUNGHOON ❫  

౨ৎ winner of the most nonchalant award !! you need help practicing how to kiss? sure. what else are best friends for?

he promises he’ll only be slightly cocky about it. “if you wanted to kiss me all you had to do was ask.”

“i don’t,” you’d shoot back, but the way he has to hide how the corner of his mouth quirks up, shows that he clearly doesn’t believe a word.

you ramble on a little about how this is just to familiarize yourself with the entire process, how it’s overrated and not even that deep—like why does a “first” kiss even matter? it’s literally just a kiss.

all sunghoon responds with is an easy “sure.” like you asked him the time. “c’mere.”

no teasing, no embarrassment. his hands are comforting at your waist and the kiss is slower than you expect. more cautious. when he pulls back, his voice is low, even. too even.

“there you go. you’re not half bad.”

he seems nonchalant, sure, yet... the faint red on his features tells a completely different story.

김선우 — ❪ KIM SUNWOO ❫  

౨ৎ “you’re joking, right? Right?.”

sunoo stands up—he did always have a thing for dramatics—like he needs to have free range of motion to be able to process what you just said. 

“you,” his fingers points accusingly like you’ve committed a grave sin, “want me,” finger pointing back at his own now pacing figure, “to teach you how to kiss?!”

his conviction is so strong that you almost believe in the sacrilege yourself.

you eventually interrupt him with an airy mention of just "dropping it" because you can always ask someone else.

“do you even know,” he gasps at that, “how easily people could literally take advantage of you if you walk up to them and say that??” 

you snort, brushing him off. you’re confident, positive that you can handle yourself. 

but when he moves next you hardly expect him to crowd into your space, pinning you against the bed you’d been lazily lounging against.

his lips ghost over yours, not touching but close enough that you can feel the words he says next before you hear them. “confident huh? i guess we’ll see how well you handle this, then.”

safe to say … lesson learnt. (maybe.)

양정원 — ❪ YANG JUNGWON ❫  

౨ৎ finding yourself alone on classroom cleaning duty is usually plenty boring. it’s only natural you’d have … some interesting thoughts to distract you from the mundanity of the chore.

but thankfully, your best friend happens to be suffering on duty with you too! what better way to pass time than a quick chat with him?

so when you half jokingly bring up the idea you don’t really expect anything to come out of it. 

and the surprisingly positive response you get is, if nothing else, a tad bit unexpected. jungwon almost seems to be a little too thrilled at the prospect. “so,” his face is carefully neutral, but years of knowing him have made you rather familiar to that knowing sparkle in his gaze, “this would purely be for educational purposes?”

you nod, still half thinking this is just hypothetical. he nods back in response. 

he moves slowly, like he has all the time in the world, like this is something he doesn’t even have to think twice about.

you find your face cupped in both his hands and all your follow up questions silenced as he presses kiss after kiss to your lips, unorganized desks remaining forgotten.

"i'd hate to get in the way of proper learning, after all." is his only explanation as he lets you up for air (much) later.

西村 力 — ❪ NISHIMURA RIKI ❫  

౨ৎ it’s actually him who jokingly brings it up.

some offhand comment about first kisses tasting like lemons. when you admit you wouldn’t know, considering you haven’t had yours, he pauses. almost as if considering the logistics of what he’s about to say. 

to fill the silence, you add a “you could teach me, you know.” not meaning anything by it at all.

but you can only blink when in a tone that is way too assured he says, “i could.”

“…huh?”

ni-ki has the gall to shrug at that, eyes glued to whatever 2000’s cheesy romcom you’d picked out earlier that evening. he insists you should get some ‘real experience’ and that it’d be a disservice to society (i.e., all the boys you could potentially date in the future) not to help you out.

one would think he's doing you a public service by how much he talks it up.

you roll your eyes, deciding to play along. if he wants to take the joke this far, you might as well get some fun out of it.

naturally, his only way to deal with your unserious attitude is to prove his point. 

one short kiss melts into two, three, four—you end up losing count. and frankly, you couldn’t be bothered one bit about it.

his thumb brushes against your slightly swollen lips, stopping you when you chase after his own again, and you almost hate how he seems so composed.

“don’t overthink it.” he says, sealing the words with one last kiss to your forehead, a complete contrast to the earlier rushed ones, “i’ve got you.”

𐙚 . regulars : @chrrific @jessxxxfwd @evanesceki @soobundle1009 @weedatthegasstattion @flipitkickit @douqhnxtss @soona-huh @amoressb @nicholasluvbot @manariee @rinrinninnin @ddeonuswife @douqhnxtss @lovenha7 @amatabelle @i-am-not-dal @liyahhhh620 @elleetlalune @eunwonji @s0shroe @wensurr ⋆

[@bambisnc] 2k25

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Can’t live without your love inside me now

Tags: sextherapist!Nanami x fem!reader, nocurse!au, taboo romance, heavy topics such as sexual assault, dead dove due to the power imbalance and heavy conversation, is this considered angst? idk

Synopsis: In which Kento Nanami is a sex therapist, and his client is a young neglected wife with an emotionally absent husband. He teaches you what love is really all about.

An: Just another warning that this fic deals with heavy themes. It’s honestly been so therapeutic for me to write due to my own history. If it’s not for you, I have plenty of other Nanami fics that are more lighthearted. For the anons in my requests asking for more Nanami, this is for you.

Part one. |

“With those things in mind, I’m interested in what has brought you into my office today.”

“I’m not sure… Sex just doesn’t appeal to me much anymore.”

Being a sex therapist, Kento Nanami has heard it all. He’s seen this same presenting problem again and again. He’s counseled young and older men with erectile dysfunction. He’s counseled persons of the LGBTQ+ community come to terms with their sexuality and how that relates to sex. He’s counseled so many people who come from purity culture and struggle with sex. He’s counseled couples who can’t seem to get it right in the bedroom. He’s counseled sexual assault survivors.

Kento Nanami prides himself on upholding the ethics of counseling. He keeps the code of ethics proudly sat upon his shelf. His goal as a therapist was to give everyone a safe space to divulge their most vulnerable inner thoughts to him.

Sex was too often treated as a taboo, offensive subject, which is why Nanami got into sex therapy in the first place. He wanted to change the stigma around it. Sex was a basic need for the majority of individuals, and many times, people have poor experiences with sex since it’s not normalized and hardly talked about.

“Okay, so is it fair to say you don’t often feel like you’re in the mood for sex?” he asked as he looked towards his client. A pretty young lady sat across from him on his couch. His “office” was in his home, finding that people often didn’t want to talk about sex in what they considered to be a “public” space like a therapist’s office.

“Yeah, I mean… I just...” your voice trailed off. You already felt like this might be a mistake. Your arms crossed over your chest as it felt like you were naked in front of your incredibly handsome counselor.

His office was nice, serene almost. He had different seating options and all kinds of fidget items around his office. He also had a plethora of books on a shelf behind his desk.

It seems he enjoys spending his time reading up about the art of sex. You can’t help but feel your face warm from thinking about him reading those sorts of things in his free time.

The walls were painted a nice soft blue grey color, and the office smelled like fresh linen from the aroma diffuser in the corner of the room. Several different houseplants were also scattered about. They all looked healthy, assuring you that Nanami paid attention to detail. He was responsible and consistent.

“Take your time,” Nanami assured you as he sat back in his chair. “The first visit is always the hardest. Don’t feel pressured to get down to the bottom of why you’re lacking a sexual drive. These things take time and trial and error.”

That was… almost reassuring. You took a deep breath as your fingers absentmindedly twirled a strand of hair behind your ear. The familiar ministration worked to calm your mind.

“I’m young, and I’m recently married. I have no kids. I feel like I should be… I don’t know— at my sexual prime or something.”

“What gave you that idea?” Nanami probed as he continued observing your small nervous habits. He found his lips trying to curl into a smile, but he kept his face meticulously trained as a look of interest.

“Well, girls talk, you know? My girlfriends talk about their lack of a sex life stemming from other obligations or from a lack of a connection…” you explained as you briefly looked up at Nanami. Each time his hazel eyes met yours, you had to look away immediately.

When you found his information online, you didn’t think he’d be this handsome. You just saw all of his credentials, and you had heard good things about him on different websites centered around “rating” therapists.

Of course, you had done some digging on him. There was no way in hell you were going to go to some strange man’s house to talk about sex. That sounded ridiculous.

“Do you compare yourself to these so called ‘girlfriends’ often?” Nanami asked calmly. His voice was even and smooth, allowing you feel even more safe to open up.

“I mean, no. They’re just all I have in terms of what’s normal for sex.”

“Okay, so let me make sure I understand this right. You lack a sexual drive. You feel guilty that you lack sexual drive because you believe you don’t have a good enough reason to not want sex on a regular basis, and you think that you’re not normal. Does that cover it?”

You winced a bit as it was all laid out on the table for you. Your eyes squeezed shut, trying to hide from how pathetic you sounded. You sheepishly nod in response.

“Y/n, open your eyes for me,” his voice spoke gently, coaxing you to slowly flutter your eyes open to look into his. Once he had your gaze, he went on, “These are all normal feelings to have. I can blab on and on to you about how our society is blatantly misogynistic when it comes to sex, but I’ll spare you the details since I’m sure you’re painfully aware. We’re going to figure this out together, alright?”

You took a deep breath, letting his words wash over you as a security blanket. It was nice to have someone to just talk about these things freely to. You felt a glimmer of hope shine through.

“Okay,” you said with a small nod, feeling more confident now.

“So, you mentioned earlier that you're recently married. Tell me a little bit about that."

You try not to have a physical reaction when Nanami brings up your husband. It was a topic that felt too raw.. too close to home. You’re supposed to be a dutiful wife, right? So, why would you feel that way when talking about your husband?

“Oh, uh… well,” you stammer, looking away from Nanami as you suddenly came up blank on your own marriage. “We got married about a year ago. Some say we’re still in the honeymoon phase, but…”

Nanami perks up a little in his chair. Some therapists take notes or record their sessions. Nanami doesn’t believe in it. He thinks it takes away from the moment. He’d much rather be present with his client rather than jotting down notes.

“But..?” he urges you to go on.

“But… I guess it just doesn’t feel that way.”

“What is your idea of the honeymoon phase? What does that look like to you?” Nanami asks, clasping his hands together in his lap as he relaxes into his chair.

You take a moment to process his question. What does the honeymoon phase look like?

“For me, it looks like the movies where couples do things for each other without being asked. They’re attuned to each other’s emotions, and they make a conscious effort to be sensitive to their partner’s feelings.” Your eyes meet Nanami’s once again, and you let out a deep breath. No one told you that counseling would be this mentally strenuous.

“Okay, what about in your current life? Do you feel like that’s how it is now?”

You nearly laugh from the question. You mentioned that sort of love being in movies because you’ve never seen it in real life. You’re nearly convinced that it doesn’t happen in real life, and anyone who claims to have that type of love must be lying.

“No, I feel like we’re both focused on our own lives… We just happen to also be in a marriage together.”

“That doesn’t seem like an active partnership,” Nanami responds as he searches your face thoughtfully. He can feel his heart ache for you. This is by far his least favorite presenting problem to work with because he can’t just tell you that you need to leave your husband. All he can do is inspire you to seek the changes you need. “What are you focused on in your own life right now, y/n?”

You feel the tension set in your shoulders and neck as soon as you hear that question. Just thinking about what all you have to do is enough to stress you out. “For starters, I work full-time. It’s a standard corporate job from eight to five, but it can be a lot.”

“That’s not easy, y/n. Just because that is what’s considered to be standard, doesn’t mean it’s easy. I’m sure that’s a lot on your plate.” His voice was low and calm. His presence felt so warm in the room; you feel like you’re finally able to open up a little.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I also take care of the house and our pets.”

“The housework… is that all your responsibility?” Nanami asks as his eyebrows knit together slightly. He feels like he’s already scratching the surface of why you don’t have any sex drive.

“Yeah. If I want him to do anything, I have to delegate the work to him. My husband always says to just tell him whenever I want something done, and I should be grateful that he’s willing to help—“

Nanami couldn’t help himself. He doesn’t like to interrupt clients often, but the more you talk about tour husband, the more he’s having to hold himself back. “That’s the bare minimum.”

You’re slightly taken aback, and you look away from Nanami. A part of you knows that he’s right, but… you didn’t want to bad mouth your husband. A large boulder of guilt settled into your stomach.

“Tell me what you’re feeling right now,” Nanami’s voice returns to that gentle tone. “That probably wasn’t appropriate for me to say. I apologize.” He knows he shouldn’t have said that, and he knows he has to appropriately handle this if he wants you to feel comfortable enough to open up again.

“I guess I just… It feels wrong talking negative about my husband to another man. It just feels different when I’m ranting with my girl friends.” You straighten your posture and take a deep breath. It feels good getting that out in the open.

Nanami slowly nods his head. He can see why you view that act as troublesome. “So, you’re feeling tense because of our opposing sexes? Tell me. Does your husband know where you are right now?”

“Well, yeah… He was honestly the one who told me I needed help since I don’t feel any sort of sex drive.”

Nanami’s teeth subtly clench together, but he keeps a stoic expression as best as he can. The thought of your husband claiming that there’s something wrong with you absolutely repulses Nanami.

“How does that make you feel?”

Your fingers twitch a bit as you look down to the ground. You should be honest with Nanami if you really want the help that you came here for.

“I guess it makes me feel like I’m not good enough for him. Every time we have sex I try to cater to him, but it just feels like it’s never enough. If he had it his way, we’d probably have sex everyday, but I just don’t have that kind of time, energy, or desire.”

Nanami feels his chest tighten while he listens to you. This is why he hated working with this presenting problem. This man is ruining your confidence and self-esteem, and your low sex drive is either completely natural or it’s because of him.

If Nanami could show you what it was like to be truly loved, he would. Then, you’d probably open your eyes and see that your husband is the one who isn’t good enough for you.

He shakes those thoughts out of his head. He knows he’s bound to a code of ethics. He can’t pursue you romantically or sexually. It’d be morally wrong.

“That’s heavy.” He nods, allowing silence for reflection. He then speaks up again after a pregnant pause, “Let’s break down what you said sentence by sentence, okay? First, you have said that you feel guilty and not good enough in terms of sex.”

You slowly nod, still avoiding eye contact with Nanami. Why didn’t anyone tell you that this would be so emotionally exhausting.

“Do you put a lot of pressure on yourself to perform?”

That question alone opened up the floodgates. Tears bit into your eyes, and you covered your face with your hands. “All the time,” your voice cracked, betraying how deep this affected you.

“Oh dear,” Nanami says softly. He grabs a box of tissues, and he hands them to you. “Sex is meant to feel natural and progressive. It’s understandable that you don’t feel any drive if you’re constantly pressuring yourself.”

You nod as you take the tissues, dabbing your eyes gently.

“I just,” you let out a deep shaky breath, trying to calm your nervous system. “It’s easier to just do it and get it over with rather than to hear him ask multiple times.”

Nanami clenches his jaw. His hand gently finds your shoulder, and he makes you look up at him. “Listen to me. If you take nothing else away from this entire session, take this. Asking multiple times even though the answer was clearly a no is coercion. Whenever he asks multiple times, he’s hoping that you get tired of telling him no and just give in.”

Your eyes meet Nanami’s, and your eyebrows furrow a little. Coercion? No.. no, that can’t be right. He’s your husband. He’s just asking to make sure you hadn’t changed your mind. He wouldn’t coerce you into anything you didn’t want to do…

You slightly pull away from Nanami. “I don’t think that’s right… He wouldn’t do something like that. He’s not abusive.”

Nanami leans back. He chides himself internally for going in too deep too quickly. He’s grateful that you’re giving him grace right now. You definitely could’ve just left the session after he blatantly told you that your husband was a conniving piece of shit.

He takes a deep breath. “I apologize. I must have it wrong,” he says as he regains his posture. He knows he needs to make you understand. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Oh—? Uh, no.. no I’m okay, thanks.”

“Are you sure? It’s good tea.” Nanami leans in slightly, not breaking eye contact with you.

“Yeah, I’m sure… I don’t really think I can stomach it..” you respond, confused as to why he was suddenly wanting to make you tea.

“Tea is good for digestion. It might help your stomach. You really don’t want any? I can make it quickly with an electric kettle I bought the other day.”

You slouch back a little, a frown covering your lips. “I mean.. I guess tea would be okay.”

Nanami then gives you a knowing look, and the realization hits you. “Did you actually want the tea, or were you just going to accept the tea because I kept pestering you?”

Goddammit. This therapist is good.

Taglist: @theuniversesnepobaby @airandyeah

[worstghost]

teaching bob how to kiss and accidentally slipping into a 20 minute makeout session

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

it was a weird situation that you were in, an impossible one really.

bob had confessed to you that he hadn't really kissed anyone, at least not sober. and he had this insane crush on some mystery girl and couldn't stand the thought of embarrassing himself with his lack of experience, so he never went for it.

and you, being a good friend, who happened to dream about kissing him, offered your services. you weren't a professional by any means, but he didnt need to know that.

once you pushed past his nerves and settled down on his bed, fingers twisting the tassles of his threaded blanket, you looked at him and waited for him to give you the go ahead.

let him take his time, spending it admiring his freshly washed hair and the bright flush across his cheeks. the way his eyes looked anywhere but you and then- he leaned in, squeezing his eyes shut and gripping the blanket tight.

you couldn't help your smile, sliding your fingers closer and intertwining them with his as you met him in the middle.

you were careful, slow, just pressing a gentle kiss against the corner of his mouth.

he let out a shaky slow breath of relief, tilting to the side and making sure the next time you came in it was a real kiss.

his boldness surprised you, but it wasn't unwelcome. you took it as a sign to keep moving, scooting ever so slightly closer and bumping his thigh with your knee.

bob jumped just slightly, pulling away until your noses touched. kissing was more fun than he remembered, not that he remembered much.

you smiled up at him, waiting for him to continue.

"Wow..." he spoke so soft, breath fanning across your cheeks, mint like his toothpaste.

that made you giggle a little, biting your lip to stop it from coming out completely.

"Oh Bob. I haven't shown you anything yet."

he swallowed hard, watching you like he couldn't imagine there was anything better than what just happened.

"Here... do this." reaching for his hand, you brought it up to the side of your face, mimicking the motion yourself and brushing your thumb across his cheek.

he smiled so sweetly at you, your heart leapt. what a beautiful man.

"What?" his blush rose ever higher, hand shaking against your jaw.

did you say that out loud?

you decided to run with it, "You are, Bob. So beautiful. I thought you knew."

it felt like his room was getting infinitely warmer, your clothes too tight. keep going.

before he could respond you brought him down to your lips, it was easy, wherever your hand brought him, he followed.

this kiss was easier, more comfortable, he sighed against you and you could feel the flex of his fingers against your throat.

you held him tight, wanting to see if he'd let you show him more. your lips parted, swiping your tongue against his and he groaned.

bob immediately reciprocated, opening up for you and bringing you closer, letting your tongues meet in the middle. his free hand started wandering, sliding across your knee and settling on your thigh.

the heat radiating off of him was enough to have you panting when you pulled away.

his eyes were so dark, pupils blown, mouth dropped open in shock.

"Can you... show me more?" he was so uncertain, completely unaware of the fact that you were so fucking in love with him, the fact that you could spend the rest of your life like this and never be unsatisfied.

you didnt even respond, threading both of your hands in to his hair and sitting up taller to meet him in the middle this time.

he understood immediately and wrapped his arms around you, practically pulling you in to his lap as you connected again.

this one was messy, constant adjusting and tongues sliding against teeth and you truly wouldn't have it any other way.

bob started leaning back, it just felt natural to pull you with him, until you were straddling his thigh and moaning against his mouth.

god, his heart couldn't take this. he didn't know you'd offer to help like this. he was being hopeful when he talked about his mystery girl, hoping he could sense if you somehow reciprocated.

this was probably the best case scenario right?

even if you rejected him, he at least got this experience.

you pulled away, leaving soft kisses against his swollen lips, shushing him when he started to complain. you were confident he'd love this part, mouthing across his jaw and down his throat, scraping your teeth against his rapid pulse.

you didn't even react when his hands slid down to your ass, grabbing hard like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

the moan he let out was so soft, surprised and breathless and you wanted to hear it again and again and again so you sucked until he had hickeys down to his collar bone.

"Fuck- you're amazing..." he couldn't help the whine to his voice, embarrassed at how easily you've unraveled him.

finally, you sat up to meet his eyes again, panting and trying to get your mind back on track. this definitely went off the rails but god you couldn't have asked for a better way to spend your night. at the very least if you never speak again, you got a chance to make him feel good.

"Mm. Think I've taught you enough to ask her out?" no, you were hoping he'd ask you to stay and keep going.

bob looked shocked, biting his lip as he looked away. "There was no her... it was just you."

your smile was so big it made your cheeks hurt, "God, I was hoping you'd say that."

you didn't give him a chance to respond, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pulling him right back in.

[prince-septimus]

calm mornings

pairing : robert reynolds x reader

summary : just two lonely people learning of a thing called affection.

word count : 1.5k

You find yourself staring at him often -- the man with the power of a thousand suns. Sometimes you have to remind yourself of the power he wields because when you see him occasionally sitting in the little corner he's created with books surrounding him and an overlook of New York to add on, you forget the events of a few months ago when the city fell to shadows.

When you see Bob now, all you see is the softness he carries with him, the comfort he brings even after years of not having it for himself. How could someone who has been through so much manage to continue on with such a soft heart?

You guessed the same could be said for the whole team. The ruined assassins who spent part of their lives being brainwashed and tortured. The super soldiers who never did quite reach their potential, and spent their entire lives dwelling on it. The experiments and the suffering and the darkness that the rest of you had endured. The whole team had that in common, and it was something you thought made you better than the Avengers.

The Thunderbolts were a family.

(You always were fond of the nickname, even after having to put that 'A' on your uniform.)

Maybe that's why you would find yourselves gathered late into the night, recapping missions and watching shitty 80s movies. Maybe that was what you all needed to keep the nightmares and dark thoughts away. You all had done bad things, unforgivable things, and yet you could still find yourselves together on a Saturday night fighting over who got the last slice of pizza and picked the next movie.

It was one of those nights you woke up early after. You had only been asleep for a few hours, but the weekends were sometimes a little more peaceful, almost like the job followed that weekday schedule you remembered from school. It was nice sometimes to get up early and drink coffee in a corner somewhere while the sun was still rising. Usually you were left alone during that time.

This morning you were not alone.

The coffee machine is still dripping the last dregs into the pot when you hear his quiet footsteps. The others had tried to convince you to get a better coffee pot -- one of the ones with a million buttons that made all sorts of espresso drinks and could add different things. You're sure that sort of appliance was here when the building belonged to Tony Stark, but you liked your tried and true, traditional pot. Even if it was a bit loud.

"Made enough for two?"

Bob's voice is still full of sleep. You wonder if he actually fell asleep or just dozed like he did sometimes. He had seemed tired towards the end of the last movie, after everyone had began to settle down, and you hoped that meant he at least got a good few hours in.

You smile gently at him as he pads over to lean against the counter. "I always make a full pot. You know that."

You hadn't bothered with the lights, preferring the soft glow that had started to enter the space as the sun began to rise beyond the windows. You enjoyed this time in the morning, when everything was still quiet and calm. You wondered if he preferred it too.

He leans over you to reach in the cabinet above, grabbing two mugs and setting them on the counter beside you. He looks cozy in his sweater and soft lounge pants, the thick socks on his feet silencing his movements on the floor -- though you wonder how he sleeps like that at night, the layers of fabric confining him in his sleep.

Maybe it makes him feel safe.

"Can you grab the creamer from the fridge?" you ask, beginning to fill each cup from the pot. You leave a bit of space in each mug for the added components you both enjoy.

Everything is so still as you watch Bob stroll across the kitchen, grabbing the required item before padding back towards you. He gives you a small smile as you finish off both cups of coffee before handing his to him.

He cradles it in his hands as he looks at you. "You're up early."

"I always am." You take a sip, careful not to burn your tongue. "Any bad dreams?"

He shakes his head. "The nightmares aren't as frequent now. It's been easier."

Your mind goes back to when all of you first moved into the tower. It was the easiest way to go about things, being listed as the New Avengers. You all were in close proximity when needed, and even though Bob currently didn't go on missions, he still was around and had his own room just like everyone else. He liked to keep the place put together and cleaned up when the rest of you didn't have the time to. He told you once that it was because he finally had the motivation to do it after years of being in a daze.

You had been to his room several times over the months. It had become almost as familiar as your own to you, with books covering every surface.

(Most of them finished, as Bob did not like to buy a new one until he finished the previous.)

The nightmares were immediate in the beginnings of Bob's stay. It didn't come as a surprise. All of you had your own demons, as proven by the Void months ago, but something told you being stuck in his nightmares was a whole different beast.

You didn't want him to go through that alone.

It had started slow, you keeping him company on those nights. You couldn't stop the nightmares, but you could offer a break from them, an ease of the conscious. At some point it had transitioned into the sleeping in the room together, still keeping each other company but finally taking advantage of that much needed sleep when you both felt it coming on.

Then it turned into sleeping in the same bed. That was after one really bad night. Neither of you were sure what brought the nightmares on so strongly, but they hit you both and you ended up in each other's arms, begging the bad dreams to leave you be.

Eventually they did, and eventually you never left.

It wasn't exactly a relationship -- you weren't sure either of you were ready to label it as such, or even fully address that as an option. The signs were there, very much so, cradled in those shared nights and castaway nightmares, but the trauma bond was clear and neither of you wanted to base your entire future off of that.

"I didn't notice you leave the bed."

You grin. "You never do. You sleep like a log when you're peaceful." Another sip. "But seriously, no bad dreams after I got up?"

Sometimes when you were away on missions and Bob found himself alone in the bed, those nightmares came back. Sometimes he'd call you. Sometimes he wouldn't.

"Nothing. It was nice."

His hair falls into his eyes when he dips his head down to take a drink from his mug. He had got it cut after everyone moved into the Tower, a small trim to hold him over and to appease everyone as his hair got just a bit too shaggy. You liked it -- the length on top and the short bits on the side -- and thought it suited him better than what he awoke with in that room where he had been stored away.

You reach up to run your hand through it, Bob leaning into your touch. Your fingers slide across his short curls, gently straightening the bed head out.

Bob reaches up to cradle your hand in his, moving it down to press a kiss to your palm.

The kisses were a more recent thing, a testing of the boundaries. You and Bob had both gone without a real sort of relationship for so long that a lot of things were practically a new thing, an experiment. It was a way for you both to see how far you wanted to take things, and so far neither of you had said to stop.

"Got plans today?" you ask, careful not to let your coffee spill in your grasp as you push against him, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear.

A soft smile just for you. "Nothing that involves going out anywhere."

You scoff. "You never go out anyway."

"Not ready for that just yet."

You pull softly on the hair at the nape of his neck. "Wanna go watch a movie?"

He leans to brush a kiss to your cheek. "That all you want to do?"

You let out a laugh, pulling back from him when his lips run across your ear. His free arm snakes behind you and pulls you back to him. A few drops of coffee splatter between the two of you. "There's always more we can be doing."

"Nothing we don't want to, of course."

You smile wide as his arm squeezes your waist. "Of course."

[laceyfaeryy]

FORGET ME NOTS

MDNI 18+

butcher! simon riley x florist! reader

౨ৎ⠀ׄ⠀. ━ retired! simon riley who is a butcher in a small town suddenly finds himself infatuated with the florist across the road who gave him flowers on national flower day.

note: context warnings apply to all parts, ones in bold apply to the current part - it will be updated consistently

cw: fem! reader . stalking . dom! simon riley x sub! reader

i. part 1 ii. part 2

it was unlike simon to keep something so… different to him in his dark shabby apartment.

the bouquet of forget me nots contrasting against the dark furniture and dimly lit room. it was the only source of colour in the sea of black and greys. simon was not a flower guy, never in his life has he held a bouquet of flowers until you. normally he would’ve thrown them out, but something about that felt almost blasphemous.

for the past few days he took care of the flowers like they were the most precious things.

placed in a glass vase near the windowsill where it bloomed under the sun. simon was never a fan of the sun, too bright so he kept his curtains closed at all times. but now he had them wide open, he couldn’t risk having the only gift from you wilting away. they seemed to be the only source of life in his bare bone apartment. a constant reminder of you.

his sudden interest took a darker turn into obsession.

he started to rethink about the interaction, remembering how you were giving our flowers in national flower day, which meant that he wasn’t the only one. the thought of that made him sick. just how many people did you give the flowers to? what if another man took an interest in you?

it’s been years, since someone gave simon attention. specifically one that was not superficial. you were too good for him, where the idea of his rough scarred hands that were responsible of the so many deaths on you felt like a sin.

you were so sweet, so innocent to the harsh realities of the world where he didn’t know if he wanted to hide and shelter you, or corrupt you beyond belief.

you didn’t know it, but he followed you home every night, closing his shop a little early just to match your routine. it was funny how oblivious you were, walking in the dark as if you were walking in a field of daisies.

simon was a fucked up man and he knew it.

after all, no man spends his whole life at the military and comes out sane.

simon treated it like a game, seeing just how close he could get to you without being caught. he felt like a predator stalking its prey, his large figure hidden in the shadows as his years of experience in the military was displayed through his stealth.

ghost, that’s what they called him back then. now instead of targeting those in the field, it was you. his sweet little thing that made flowers bloom wherever you walked,

you were just so clueless, he could just take you back to his house and have you be his pretty thing that he spoiled endlessly. the thought of that made his cock swell.

it was a fucked up fantasy and he knew it.

every night he would watch you disappear into your house, watching as the lights turned on as you continued with your usual routine.

kitchen to reheat dinner, living room to watch tv, then bathroom to shower.

simon didn’t know how how long he spent watching you, but he couldn’t get enough.

it was like a thirst he couldn’t quench, not by watching you in a distance anyways.

that was until friday night.

the sound of the bell ringing was a noise that simon was accustomed to, but the moment a sweet vanilla scent filled his nostrils he knew immediately.

“don’t know my cuts too well, but i liked whatever you gave me last week, could i have it again?” your voice soft as you looked up at him with those eyes. oh. those eyes he dreamt about, the eyes that made him feel like he was falling down in a rabbit hole.

those eyes.

“‘s called a rib eye birdie,” his accent thick as he tried to hide the fact that he already had the cut wrapped nicely just for you. the marbling perfect just for you.

“right, a rib eye,” you smiled softly as you reached for your wallet, simon shaking his head. “trust me, it’s on the house.”

to you simon seemed like a gentleman, not the man who fisted his cock to the thought of fucking you in the little flower shop of yours. you grinned, pearly whites on display that made simon’s cold heart flutter just a little more.

“thanks uh..” your head tilted as you read his name tag pinned to his black apron.

“simon.”

god, what he would do to hear you say that again.

“don’t worry about it birdie,” after all, what kind of man would he be if he left you hungry during these cold winter nights?

tag list: @happysmappy @mydickishuge560 @dolli333 @madebyyicarus @l-otti @butlerslut @vampwifee @i-wanabe-yours @bluebarrybubblez @cinnamongrl2006 @akkahelenaa @yanfeiiiiii @actualpoppy @lilyalone @other-fandoms-reblogs @goonette6969 @doubledizzy22 @lucienofthelakes @arabellatreaty @tessakate @kayden666

[mariasont]

DEAD FROM THE WAIST DOWN

you learned to seduce your way into being loved. hotch wants to teach you that you don't have to earn love at all.

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader warnings: oh hey where does one start! mentions of past emotional abuse, conditioned sexual behavior, sex as a coping mechanism (discussed), hypersexuality, angst, hurt/comfort, established relationship, soft!hotch, happy-ish ending wc: 2.8k

How many times can a man be caught off guard by the same kiss before it stops qualifying as a surprise and becomes a cherished inevitability? You would think Aaron would know by now. 

But no, every time your mouth finds his, it feels like the first time all over again.

He isn’t a romantic, he refuses to classify it in such cheesy terms. (You would passionately disagree).

Instead, he experiences it as pure revelation — how did I forget it could feel like this? Always velveteen and warm with whatever chapstick you’ve been nursing that day. Coconut. Mint. Honeyed vanilla.

Honeyed vanilla is your favorite. His too. It stains his mouth and hours later, he can still taste it. 

He knows where you keep it now. Back left pocket. You’re predictable that way. Only that way. Discovered by accident, though nothing with you ever feels accidental, the first time he came home after a week-long case and you collided into him at the door as though you had been counting seconds rather than days. 

His hand, settling on your ass like the gentlemen he is, had landed on it, the cylindrical outline concealed beneath skin-tight denim. Denim that, even in memory alone, manages to be both curse and benediction, fabric and flesh conspiring to remind him that distance was your shared adversary. One that was conquered with every bruising reunion of lips.

These particular kisses always arrive roughly as if anything less fervent wouldn’t be proof enough of his return. Always full-bodied. Always looking for more.

For a while, he reasoned it away. Novelty, perhaps. The combustible early-stage infatuation, still volatile, still prone to overcorrection. He assumed it would fade, mellow out with familiarity. Rossi called it the honeymoon phase. Said it every time Aaron showed up to work looking distinctly worse for wear in a manner wholly unrelated to the strain of work. Grinning like a bastard. And Aaron thought he wasn’t wrong.

But time failed to temper your hunger. If anything, it grew teeth. 

You meet him at the end of each day with hands that demand, with a body that knows exactly how to ask and what to take. And he lets you. Of course he lets you. He would be out of his mind not to. 

You are generous with your affection, in and out of the bedroom. You love him without filter, without edits. Love him even in the versions he hides. There are days he doesn’t know how to hold it. Doesn’t know where to put the parts of himself that still flinch under kindness.

He is a grateful man. He is a lucky man. But he is not yet certain he is a worthy one.

Your thumbs trace his jaw, and he knows, without needing to ask, that you can feel the strain habitually tucked beneath skin and bone.

Your mouth deepens the kiss before he’s ready to accommodate it, breath merging with breath in a single, faithful puff.

Mint today, he decides. The one with the cheap twist-top and that little green label peeling at the corner.

When oxygen reasserts itself as a necessity, he pulls back, lips ghosting yours, “Missed me, did you?”

“Don’t mock me,” you scold, taking advantage of the fractional distance to catch his lower lip between your teeth. “I really did. I think I started missing you before the door even closed.”

Your hands are moving to his belt, fingers tugging, pulling —

Christ.

His hands snap down to catch your wrists.

"Sweetheart," he murmurs,  "not tonight. I just — I can barely keep my eyes open."

You recoil so fast it disorients him, and before he can think, his hands are reaching out, fingers flexing toward the empty space.

“Oh, of course,” you say, eyes flitting away. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking. You must be exhausted.”

Your apology tastes bitter in his mouth. He’s never wanted you to equate exhaustion with rejection, least of all his. He opens his mouth to reassure you, to banish the needless guilt clouding your eyes, but you hurry forward, words tumbling as nervously as your fluttering hands toward the kitchen.

“I made dinner. It’s in the fridge. I mean, I wasn’t sure when you would be home, but it’s ready. I can heat it up right now. Unless you want to just go to bed — I could bring it to you —”

“Hey.” It’s more a plea than command. You freeze, a microsecond of stillness before your hand begins its descent toward the scrunched cotton of your long sleeve tee. He intercepts it, thumb charting the map of your skin from the blue-lit vein to bone to the center point where your hand opens. “That’s really sweet, honey. Thank you.”

"You're welcome." 

“But all I want right now,” Aaron continues, pulling your hand into the center of his chest, a chaste kiss sticking itself to your knuckles, “is for you to come to bed with me.” Then, because he knows you, he adds, “I’ll take what you made for lunch tomorrow. I don’t want it to waste.”

You nod and offer a smile. 

Usually, he loves that seeing that smile of yours, might even call it his favorite pastime, if he were prone to sentimentality.

It’s something he never tires of watching. The way it starts slow, then takes your whole face with it. It shows up in your crow’s feet first — creases he adores, even if you claim to hate them — and then folds into your cheeks until your skin swells too full to contain.

He especially loves your smile that appears when you’re trying not to show how good it feels when he calls you pretty girl. You always hide it behind his shirt, like fabric’s going to keep him from noticing how you preen under the praise. 

This one isn’t that.

It flickers at the corners of your mouth but never quite lands in your eyes. It’s a smile made for strangers. He knows better than to pretend it’s the same.

You’re already walking toward the bathroom before he can say anything, before he can figure out whether he even should. He watches as you go through the motions with the same grace you always have, but he notices the absence more than anything else. 

The things you don’t do.

Normally, you hover. You lean into him as you tug your shirt over your head, brush a kiss against the slope of his shoulder with that casual intimacy you wield like second nature. Sometimes you complain — half a yawn, half a grumble — about the late hour. And pout. And push for a kiss only to pretend you’re not pleased when he gives in.

Normally, you make noise through the quiet. You ask if he locked the front door, remind him the laundry’s still in the dryer. You hum while brushing your teeth. Curse when toothpaste hits your shirt. 

Normally, you’re all subtle magnetism, clinging in that sweetly unrepentant way of yours. When he sits to unbutton his shirt, you’re usually behind him, knees pressing into the mattress, chin of his shoulder, arms looping lazily around his waist. There’s always touch. A palm to the center of his back as you pass, a hand on his arm as you squeeze by.

Normally, you're unapologetic about needing him. Tonight, you move like a guest in your own home.

It’s intolerable. And when you’re both settled into bed for the night, Aaron reaches for you before he thinks better of it, palm flattening against your waist. He feels the shape of you through pajamas and pulls. He doesn’t stop until your chest curves into his chest, until the edge of your calves nudges his. 

"Come here." Aaron threads careful fingers through your hair, pausing at the tender juncture where your neck meets the base of your skull. "Baby,” he whispers, “tell me what’s wrong.”

His eyes don’t leave yours, watching the brief flickers of vulnerability, the sparks of emotion you try to extinguish before they catch fire.

He notices the hesitant parting of your lips, opening as if to spin a half-hearted lie, only to close again once the truth gets too close to your teeth.

"I just... I wanted to be close to you."

Aaron’s brow knits, confusion and concern braided together in the crease above his eyes, arms tightening despite the fact that you’re already pressed against him like a second skin.

"You are close to me, sweetheart."

But even as he says it, he feels the flaw in his words. The way they miss the mark. He senses it in the way you chew at the inside of your cheek, how your shoulders stiffen beneath his fingertips.

Then softer, "Not like that."

"What —,"

But you're already shaking your head. "No, I — , it's not a big deal."

“Anything that involves you is a big deal to me.”

Your thumb moves, tracing circles into the fabric, slow rotations that quickly speed into tighter spirals, as if spinning faster might somehow organize your thoughts. You’ve always done this, reaching for some small, manageable action when the larger ones feel impossible to name. 

“It’s just… easier that way sometimes. To be close like that. Then I don’t have to wonder if we’re okay.”

The realization trickles into his consciousness slowly at first, then rushes in like water breaking through a dam.

He should’ve noticed sooner, how could he not have? 

Because this isn’t new. It’s not just a one-off need or tonight’s tension talking. You’ve always needed him like this. Skin on skin. Mouth on mouth. Your body pressed against his like you’re starving for confirmation. The way you undress him in the doorway. The way you straddle his lap and roll your hips like closeness could fix everything that feels unsteady. You depend on that closeness.

You come to him with your whole body. After long days. After fights. After even the smallest moments of silence that stretches too long. You find him like a blam, like if you don’t touch him, don’t take him, you’ll come apart at the seams. Kisses are never where you stop. You want all of him. Pinned beneath you. Deep inside you. As if that's the only way to believe he loves you.

He thought, for a long time, that it was just your appetite. A high sex drive. A natural tendency. He chalked it up to love language, to hormones, to heat. And he liked it, loved it, more than he was willing to admit at first. 

But this wasn’t just want. 

This was fear, bleeding out beneath your need, disguised as pleasure.

He’s supposed to be good at this, at reading people, parsing motive from movement. But somehow, he missed this.

Because somewhere along the line, someone taught you that love was transactional. That affection had to be purchased in pieces of yourself, repaid in skin and surrender. That if you didn’t offer yourself fully, you weren’t worth holding onto. And now here you are, still paying for what someone else stole from you.

And fuck, fuck, fuck, he feels sick.

His fists curl before he knows it, nails digging into his palms. His jaw locks tight. Because if the person who planted such a belief were here — if he could see the face of whoever made you believe you had to fuck your way into being loved — he wouldn’t blink. It wouldn’t matter what badge he wore. What oaths he swore. He would make sure they never touched anyone again.

“Is that what it feels like when I say no?” He doesn’t ask it accusingly. “Like we’re not okay?”

“I know it sounds dumb. I just —”

“Hey. It’s not dumb.” He pauses, brushing your hair behind your ear. “It makes more sense.”

“It does?”

“Of course it does. You want something that confirms what words sometimes don’t. I get that. I do.” He swallows hard. “But I don’t want you to feel like we’re only okay when we’re in bed.”

“I know. I just… I don’t know how to stop.” 

There’s something else sitting in your mouth, he can see it. A confession, maybe. Or just a few loose scraps of thought you haven’t stitched together yet.

“It’s okay.” He offers up an open door.

Your eyes flick down, then up again, and finally you nod in concession. He can’t tell if you believe him. That it’s okay to be honest with him.

“I spent a long time thinking touch was the only thing I had to offer. That if I wasn’t beautiful or willing or available I didn’t have value.” You say it slowly, like you’re afraid of saying it aloud. “It’s not something I think about. Not consciously. I just… feel the silence, or the tiredness, or I can’t read you… and suddenly I’m scrambling. Trying to stop it. Trying to keep from being… dismissed, I guess. And I know you’re not… him. I know that. But sometimes my body forgets.”

You laugh, but it’s hollow.

“So I kiss you. I touch you. I try to make myself irresistible so I don’t have to ask if I’m still wanted. Because I don’t know how to ask without feeling pathetic.”

He watches as you hold back the tears fighting to stake claim on your lower lash line.

“It’s not that I don’t believe you love me,” you add. “It’s that I don’t know how to feel safe unless I can see it. And I hate that. I hate that I’m still wired for panic every time you flinch or look away or —”

Your voice catches. Whatever you were about to say fractures somewhere in your throat and never quite makes it to sound.

He doesn’t reach for you despite every neuron firing in his brain that begs for the opposite. It feels wrong, somehow, to respond with touch when you just confessed how often it’s been your only way of being heard.

So he stays still, watches the curve of your shoulder rise and fall under the slow drag of breath. Watches your gaze veer just left of his face, like you’re already bracing for disbelief, or worse, kindness that feels like pity.

You exhale instead then close your eyes.  “I don’t want you to feel obligated to fix this. I’m not trying to unload it on you. I just… I want you to know why I act like I do sometimes. It’s not mistrust. It’s old wiring. And I’m trying.”

He doesn’t speak right away.

Not because he doesn’t have something to say. He does. A thousand things, actually. Some sharp, some soft.

But you’ve just peeled your chest open with surgical precision, laid the whole bloody, tender mess of it in his lap, and the last thing he’s going to do is rush to stitch it shut with half-baked reassurance.

You shift, maybe reflexively, but you still don’t meet his eyes. So he softens. Adjusts. Meets you halfway.

“I don’t think it’s pathetic. I don’t think you’re broken. I think your nervous system is doing exactly what it was trained to do, sound the alarm at the first sign of disconnection. Fight to restore the bond before it can disappear.” His breath hitches, just enough to break through the formality of it. “But you don’t have to do that with me. You don’t have to fill the silence. You don’t have to seduce me into staying. If I pull away, I need you to know I’m not punishing you. I’m not… evaluating you. Sometimes I’m tired. Or quiet. Or somewhere else in my own head. But I’m not leaving. I’m not rescinding anything.”

Finally, his hand brushes gently — gently — over your arm.

“You don’t have to perform love here. Not with me. You get to just… have it. As it is. As you are.” He studies you. “I know you can’t unlearn it overnight. I don’t expect you to. But I’d rather you come to me scared and uncertain than go silent and spiral. Let me be the one who doesn’t make you pay for needing reassurance.”

And then, only then, his voice drops, hoarser. 

“I don’t want to be another place you have to earn safety. I want to be the proof you don’t.”

He doesn’t know if the words land. Not fully. He thinks you heard him. Thinks you wanted to believe them. But that’s different from knowing. So he doesn’t say anything else, just lets you throw his arms around neck and press your cheek into his shirt.

He feels the heat of tears soaking into his shirt. He kisses your forehead first, then your hair, whispers something that neither of you really needs to understand.

And even though he’s running on fumes, he stays awake until your breathing slows. Until he’s sure you’re asleep.

Because if you’re going to believe him, really believe him, it won’t be because of what of what he says, but what he does.

It hits him between your third or fourth breath against his chest that this was the first time you didn’t try to apologize with your body after a difficult conversation. Just warmth. Trust. Skin on skin because you want to be held, not because you’re trying to keep him from vanishing. It’s small. But to him, it’s the most profound shift in the world. 

And in the weeks that follow, he sees it again. The way you kiss him and then stop as if you trust he’ll kiss you back. 

It doesn’t happen all at once. You still hesitate when he says no. Still freeze up on the bad nights. 

But you don’t crumble anymore. You pause.

You pause and sometimes your hands shake, but you reach for him anyway.

And every time, he meets you halfway.

a/n: this sat half-finished in my drafts for soooo long because i wasn't sure i could land it, emotionally or otherwise. and i felt like it's one of those things that feels like it says more about me than i probably mean it to. if u see urself in this as well, hi. i hope it makes u feel a little less weird for the things u need, or the ways you've learned to ask for love that doesn't always make sense out loud

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanded! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[elbiotipo]

I don't know, as someone who works with science and technology, I'm at least seeing a lot of anti-science and anti-technology thinking lately, more than usual. Which isn't the same as criticisms of science and technology, or the capitalist context on which it appears, but just a sensation of "we've gone too far with technology", a reaction.

I've seen people unironically quote "the ocean and space are none of my business" "we will die on earth and that's fine" and thinking those are worthwhile, inspiring statements. The whole rabid reaction against new technologies such as AI (no, not corporate AI, the tech itself). The fact that for some, an ideal society is a return to pre-industrial times.

And those are in "progressive" "left wing" circles. Do I even need to get into the anti-vaxx movement, or all the pseudoscience and conspiracy fascist thinking that is springing like mushrooms in every digital platform?

And this is not just a cultural trend but part of coordinated political projects. In places like Argentina, for example, scientists and CONICET constantly rate as some of the most trusted members of society in public opinion. However, you go to the comments of any platform and you will find bands of trolls (paid by the government) trying to disparage and insult Argentine science, because they want that to change, they want to dismantle state and national institutions of science and culture so they can be privatized. It's not just ignorance and cruelty, though that surely is part of it. It's part of a political project with intentions, to shape public opinion so that capitalist and conservative ideals gain power.

So every time I see people willingly call themselves "luddites", tell themselves that space exploration and the ocean is scary and we shouldn't do that, hate new technologies in principle rather than its social context, I do react a bit. I am a STEM guy who spends half his day working in a labcoat after all. But there's also a lack of, how to put it? consciousness? in much of the STEM community, like trying to keep itself apart of ideology, of politics, of economics. Well, those things aren't gonna wait outside of the laboratory until you're done with the experiment. They're right here and right now. And they're gonna getcha.

Anyways, just another little challenge of living in the 21th century I guess.

[hwnglx]

pick a pile - what's your fs' first impression of you?

hi lovely reader. let's peak into the first impression your fs could potentially have of you. remember this is a general reading, so not everything will resonate with everyone! breathe slowly, take your time and use your intuition to go with the pile that speaks to you the most. remember to take what resonates, and let the rest flow. 𓂃♡

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ pile 1 ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

immediately heard the word “magnetic”. you will have a powerful impression on your future lover. you will stand out to them. a lot. there is something about your energy, the way you carry yourself, the way you look, the way you act, the way you speak; it's hypnotising, captivating and incredibly intriguing to your fs. it will be an instant attraction. first time they spot you, you just catch their eye right away, and something about you will mesmerize them.

i see this potentially happening in a setting where's there's several people around you, perhaps a party or celebration of some sort. the atmosphere is nice, enjoyable. likely to take place in an environment that's easygoing and pleasant, perhaps among friends or people you feel comfortable with.

your fs could spot you in a position where you're communicating, and the way you articulate yourself could pique their interest. you might give off this very intelligent and witty impression. like you just know what you're talking about, or you're good at what you do.

i see this person perhaps feeling inferior to you, and intimated by your strong presence. the way you make your fs feel could result in them feeling small, like “damn, never knew i could feel this crazy about a person without even getting to know them.” i keep getting the feeling you will stay stuck in this person's mind for a long time. the thought of you will follow them around constantly, and they could get hooked really fast.

there might be hesitation when it comes to actually confronting you, because of this potential inferiority complex they might experience. this person reads as quite hard on themselves, they might not be entirely confident or see themselves as a catch; but you definitely are a major catch in their eyes. that's why it's possible that they could have issues seeing themselves on the same level as you, which could hold them back from approaching you more confidently.

though i have to note; their first impression also consists of you seeing you in a light of empathy, gentleness, kindness. a part of what draws them in to you, could be that they see you as a person capable of providing them with what they don't have, especially in terms of their emotional world. you could bring them the sense of comfort they lack in life. something about you just screams emotional maturity to them. like this person would understand me the way no one else does.

the queen of cups always gives me very cancerian energy. (though you could just have prominent water/4h/12h placements in general!) cancerian people (especially cancer suns, venus' and risings) often have this beautifully feminine energy to them. you might have gorgeous curves, features that are more on the rounder side, like your face shape, which your fs could feel drawn to. something about your eyes could pull them in too, they could be very expressive.

additional physical features they might notice

dark skin

black clothing

white or bleached hair

medium hair

brunette

channelled songs

je te laisserai des mots by patrick watson

“i will leave you words,

under your door

and when you're alone for a moment

pick me up whenever you want

kiss me whenever you want”

nobody gets me by sza

“how am i supposed to tell you?

i don't wanna see you with anyone but me

nobody gets me

you do”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ pile 2 ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

your fs' first impression might include seeing you in a crowded place. this is random, so take what resonates, but for some of you it could be a school, a university; just a place where's a lot of different types of people, whose opinions, words or personalities potentially clash a lot.

your future lover could first perceive you, as a calm, quiet and reserved person, who's more of a lone-wolf. someone who prefers withdrawing, doing their own thing, and living in their own little dream world or bubble.

there is this feeling of you liking to doze off into your own fantasies, detached from the things that are going on around you. they could look at you as someone who doesn't enjoy being around people all the time, and feels more comfortable detaching themselves from fights, conflict, drama, gossip.

your fs could think you're the type to be easily overwhelmed, perhaps more insecure too, which could lead to this tendency of yours to distance yourself from everything that is going on. they might see you as someone artistic and introspective. the type to sit off to the side, quietly sketching or listening to music, while the crowd buzzes with noise.

they might be unable to read you at first, with you giving off more of a complex vibe they can't exactly decipher. they're under the impression that you're likely to have so much going on in your head, which could result in them wondering. there's mystery in your stillness.

the energy in terms of your fs' first impression of you, is more naive, shy, innocent, youthful.. it's likely your future lover is either older than you in age, or just thinks you're probably someone who's younger or more immature than them. you might even look younger than you actually are.

some of you might be quite petite in size. i can also see some of you liking to dress up in a dainty way, which your fs could take note of. some of you might have shorter hair, a bob, bangs or light brown or dirty blond hair.

your fs might not really be sure how to behave around you. it's likely they could look at you as someone very sensitive and soft-hearted, which could cause them to be slightly hesitant to be around you. they might be under the impression that you're someone who needs to be dealt with gently.

this impression you made on your fs doesn’t fade quickly. your presence lingers in their mind, not because you were loud or flashy, but because your quiet mystery made them want to know more.

something about you might give your future spouse the impression that you're well off. this could be in a financial sense; some of them might assume you come from a stable family background that supports you (even if that’s not actually the case, remember this is their subjective impression).

it could also reflect how they see you as someone who’s focused on their long-term goals and building a secure future for themselves. there's a quiet sense of success around you, like you're the type who works hard without needing attention, and is likely to achieve a lot because of that.

your energy reminds me of winter from aespa a little bit. she's a capricorn sun with a pisces moon, which gives her this blend of being a dreamy, head-in-the-clouds hard worker.

additional physical features they might notice

coloured eyes (green, blue)

white or bleached hair

beauty marks

freckles

baby face

square face

channelled songs

my future by billie eilish

“cause i'm in love

with my future

can't wait to meet her”

only love can hurt like this by paloma faith

“and when you come close, i just tremble

and every time you go

it's like a knife that cuts right through my soul”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ pile 3 ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

wow, safe to say you will make an impression on your fs. this person will quite literally be head over heels obsessed with you, from the moment they meet you. it's like “this person awakens things in me i've never felt before” there’s likely to be an intense, almost magnetic physical pull toward you, that they might not even be able to explain.

when your fs first encounters you, they could view you in a very flirty and charming light. there's just something about the way you carry yourself, the way you speak, the way you look at them, that makes them go crazy inside. even your sole eye contact has the ability to light up not just butterflies, but entire fireworks inside of them.

this person's energy is increeedibly emotional, and very passionate. they could be a bit of a player or womanizer. or perhaps just someone who flirts with a lot of people.

i see them falling fast for people, but hard at the same time. it's likely they'll romanticize the heck out of you in their head. definitely a case of rose-colored glasses, where literally everything you do is ✨captivating✨ to them.

interestingly, their first impression of you might come with a moment of humbling. the attraction will absolutely be there. it will be strong, immediate, even overwhelming, but so will a flicker of doubt. they might wonder if they'd even stand a chance with someone like you.

some of you might genuinely give them a little bit of a harsh reality check and blow to their ego, whether intentional or not. again, it's hard to tell if what i'm sensing is actually of substance, or just your fs' extremely emotion-based perception (this person is a big F in terms of mbti, i will tell you that) but something about the way you act, could make humble them, pull them back down to the ground.

some of you might just not pay much attention them, ignore them, give them the cold shoulder, while some of you could literally tell them to get down their high horse, to slow down or friendzone them. some of you might even be taken already, at your first encounter with your future lover. either way, there's a brief moment where their spirit takes a hit... and then they go right back to dreaming about you.

the star card speaks of dreams and idealism, but it's also about distance and longing.

think of what stars are like.. they're beautiful, so so dazzling and radiant, but unbelievably far away. that's how your fs will see you. beautiful and magnetic, but not easily attainable. they'll think of you as someone who rightfully has high standards, and wouldn't just settle for anyone.

physical features they might notice

sharp face

red head or coloured hair

make up

the way you dress

beauty marks

blue eyes

channelled songs

spicy by aespa

“you want my A to the Z

but you won't get it, not a chance

pulled in in a blink of an eye, you'll be mine”

rude boy by rihanna

“come here rude boy, can you get it up?

show me what you got now

baby, if i don't feel it i ain't faking”

thank you for reading! i'd love to hear you guys' feedback on what resonated for you

[hot-patootiee]

Part 2 of this. And can you tell I had issues with my ex? Like holy shit I’m having flashbacks writing this.

Nancy stands up and walks over to Eddie though, and gently pushes him towards the door.

“Go fix it.” She demands.

Eddie makes a confused sound as he is gently pushed out of the house, having to push open the door or be squished into it.

…

When Steve’s doorbell rings again, he’s getting a little annoyed.

He swings open the door and Eddie is there.

Steve begins to close the door.

Unfortunately he is forced to deal with his feelings, so Eddie puts a hand on the door and pushes it open.

“Did you think we were dating?” Eddie seems almost accusatory in his tone, which immediately annoyed Steve.

“What do you mean by ‘think’ Eddie? I asked you out, you said yes.” Steve was still trying to shut the door in Eddie’s face, but he looked more angry than sad. “Unless this is some sort of strange apology and declaration of love, I don’t wanna hear it.”

“It is! It is! Just don’t close the door.” Steve furrows his brows and lets the door swing open.

Eddie stumbles in, tripping over the entrance and nearly falling into Steve.

Steve stares at Eddie, waiting.

“I thought you were just experimenting and I’m so sorry for thinking your confession was a joke.” Eddie says sincerely, shifting slightly on his feet in discomfort.

“You think everything I do is a joke. Everyone does! Poor little Steve Harrington gets hit in the head too many times and now is incapable of a coherent thought.” Steve finishes with a self deprecating laugh. His eyes are shining and Eddie can see the rage festering in them, the resignation transforming into simmering anger.

Eddie opens his mouth to refute it, but is cut off instead.

“Was kissing me a joke too? Am I too stupid to know?” Steve moves into Eddie’s face, crowding him before pulling back suddenly. A strong gust reminds Eddie the door is open and anyone close enough could hear them.

“No, no of course not. Shouldn’t we close the door?” Eddie suggests.

“You’re the dumbass who didn’t close it. There is no we in that.” Steve sneers at Eddie’s implication at Steve being incompetent.

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” Eddie murmurs, pushing the door hard and letting it swing shut. His shoulders are hunched, as if he was trying to placate Steve by making himself smaller.

“I thought you were different, I put up with everybody else calling me stupid all the time, because most of them are children, and I thought you, my boyfriend, was different. But, apparently, you think I’m too incompetent with my own feelings that you need to make the judgement for me.”

“I thought you were joking.” Eddie repeated, Steve was honestly beginning to hear the needle on the vinyl from how many times Eddie had been repeating himself.

“And when I kissed you, was I still just joking?” Steve probed.

“No, can you just let me explain for a second?” Eddie spat his words out quickly, knowing if he went slower Steve would continue to yell at him.

“No, because you’re charging in here with some half cocked apology to try to fix something, just because someone else pointed out that you should. You need to feel better, so you came over to apologize, without considering that I’ve been wallowing in my house for days because of something you did. Actually fucking apologize because you feel bad about putting me in pain, not because you want to stop being uncomfortable with your own actions.” Steve lectured, he massaged the bridge of his nose slightly in an attempt to alleviate his own frustration.

“What do you want me to do? How do I fix this?”

“Those are questions you have to answer yourself. Maybe apologize with something that screams ‘sorry for thinking our entire relationship was a joke’. If you come here with some fucking flowers or chocolate and think that that’s adequate, I will break your fucking guitar.” The wrinkles in Steve’s brow just became deeper as he threatened Eddie. His muscles trembled slightly as he reminded himself of how angry he was.

Eddie nods, looking slightly resigned.

“Oh, and your fucking behavior should change, treat me like a goddamn person. I pulled your ass out of hell, I’ve proved myself to be capable a thousand times over. Treat me like I am.” Eddie couldn’t help but focus on how Steve’s hands shook.

Eddie nods and begins to pull away from Steve, looking sad as he slowly moves to the door.

“What are you doing?” Steve looked genuinely puzzled, prompting Eddie to stop with his hand on the doorknob.

“I’m leaving, I didn’t think you’d want me here.” Eddie shrugged, looking a lot like a kicked puppy as he whimpered. He then began to turn the doorknob to exit the Harrington house.

“What did I just say about making decisions for me?” Steve has his hip cocked and his hands resting on his waist in his signature annoyed mom look. Eddie freezes, unknowing of what to do.

“Come on, go to my room and wait, I just need to run the dishes.” Steve shoos Eddie, who quickly scampers up the stairs and slipped inside Steve’s room. He was unsure of what to do so he waited at the foot of the bed, sitting on the edge of it.

He isn’t sure how long he waits, but Steve finally pads into the room.

Steve pushes Eddie onto his back. Crawling inbetween his legs.

Eddie opens his mouth to express his confusion, but is interrupted by a firm “scooch” which spurs Eddie into backing up into the headboard. Steve follows quickly behind.

Steve tucks himself into Eddie’s collarbone. He settles easily, even though Eddie is still incredibly tense.

“Tell me the other thing you came here to say.” Steve demands.

“Oh darling I like you so much. I’ll stay with you forever, I’m so sorry for leaving.” Eddie rambles, like the floodgates holding him back had been released.

“Again?” Steve said quietly, barely louder than his breath.

“I like you a lot, Steve. I got the biggest crush on you. Never thought you’d ever like someone like me. I don’t deserve you.” Eddie ends with a damn near whimper, but Steve’s resolve didn’t change in the face of Eddie’s words.

“You’re right, you don’t. You left me and you were planning on leaving me again if I didn’t accept your apology. It’s been days and all I want is to be with my boyfriend.” Steve’s voice slowly tampered down to a whisper as he spoke.

“I didn’t think of it like that.” Eddie murmured shamefully.

“Yea, no shit.” Steve snapped.

“I’m sorry.”

“Your formal apology better be fucking amazing.” Steve countered playfully.

“I’ll do my best.” Eddie pauses for a second. “What if it’s not good enough?”

“Then I break up with you.” Eddie deflates slightly. Steve continues though. “I can’t be with someone who doesn’t value me or respect me, I’ve made that mistake before.”

Eddie felt his stomach sink, but began to brainstorm on how to make it up to Steve.

Btw El and Will are making Brownies for Steve rn.

Omg I’m such an ass, pt 3 coming soon if I’m harassed enough to do it.

Also, psa if you fuck up big, you need to actually show you’re sorry. Don’t apologize to make yourself feel better, apologize to make the other person feel better. Make an actual effort to not repeat your past actions. If someone doesn’t accept your apology, remember you aren’t entitled to their forgiveness. No matter how much society tries to act like you deserve it for simply apologizing.

Also if it isn’t evident, I was forced to accept a lot of apologies when I didn’t want to.

@stripey82 @genderfluidbitch @mensch-anthropos-human @c4tharsys @scoops-aboy86 @breealtair @raleighrox @wannabe-edgy-grandpa @flustratedcas @shoujo-wizard @polysdoitforscience @exasperatedsighohmy @piemaker93 @tinyplanet95 @skepticalqueen @sharingisntkaren @scarletyeager @crypticcrytid @midnightskeeper @wheneverfeasible @ancientwormcivilization @fucjinf-whatever-dude @estrellami-1 @queenofshenanigans @grilledcheesehasfeelings <- get out of my walls

@ellietheasexylibrarian @live-laugh-love-dietrich @turinspeachjam @me-ig7 @revevivant @motherofpirates @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @samsoble @legalmenace87 @thehanwen @bigspongey @thedragonsaunt @newagemyth @pentapoctopus @my-hyperfixations-hell-blog @bumbledoubletea @blackbirdflyflyfly @what-if-a-dragon @reddiandbyler4life @i-think-i-thunk @gregre369 @fiddledeedee85 @ladykailitha

Rest of the mentions will be in the comments because fuck there is a lot of you.

[midnghtprentiss]

yours - jack abbot x f!doctor!reader

a/n: this is for “ a doctor day” which i am so happy to be a part of. it took me some time to think about something cool but i tried my best to work with this prompt. so i really really really hope you enjoy it as much as me. i tried to be subtle about the color cause in my head it means something really bigger. 

a big thank you to @letsgobarbs @ananonymousaffair @clubsoft for creating this project!!!

prompt: The nights feel dull and tasteless without you, I try to get through them but they seem so endless.

color: pink.

word count: +3k

Everything started with an offer for you to go teach at a hospital in London. You were so excited, it was your dream since medical school and you’ve worked hard to experience the things you always wanted. It started small: residency, then you got masters and a doctorate. The job offer wasn’t out of the blue, they were watching your every move, gluing to the details of your incredible brain. 

You loved working at the ED, the adrenaline, the sight of doing something good and to actually do what you loved. You found valuable things there: friends, family and love. You found Jack there. He was your rock, the biggest supporter you could ever get and he couldn’t get in the way of you getting what you always wanted. The moment you told him what they offered he knew being selfish would kill him and letting you go would kill him either. 

The breakup was clean with a lot of tears and feelings. Too many words were said meaning the same thing: you loved him and he loved you more than anyone. 

“Will you miss me?” You whispered, cuddled with him. 

“Every day til you come back to me.” He smelled your hair, pulling you closer. 

So he let you go, even if meant to put his plans on stand by. The house, the ring, the children. He would wait and so did you. 

The day you left was the day he lost himself in his own mind. Jack was quieter, more introspective and a little sadder, Robby pointed out for Dana once. He was still capable of doing his job, of course he was. But you weren’t there to help him, to make funny remarks about him or to share a candy bar when the chaos finally stopped. You weren’t there for him to take you home, in fact, you were making yourself a home somewhere else that wasn’t with him. 

He was terrified of you meeting another person that could easily erase him from your mind. The idea of you marrying someone else haunted him more often than he could admit. He would never forgive himself if the children of another man had the eyes of the girl he couldn’t forget - his girl.

You stopped talking to each other as a silent agreement. It was easy to do your jobs if the anxiety of someone waiting for the call or text wasn’t on your mind all the time. Suddenly three months became three years and the lump in your throat, the knot in Jack’s chest, got loose. 

The countless nights you almost called him to hear his voice or text to know how he was doing, if he was eating, sleeping and trying to be a normal person. Jack almost did the same too. He dialed your number and gave up, he wrote you letters and a journal to inform you about how he was dealing with the distance.

You moved on, made friends, got yourself a home with the things you only dreamed off before and got your shit together. You were a really popular name among the medical teaching. You did some impressive research, amazing experiments and innovations on the field, especially on emergency education, the top of your field. Jack watched you from afar the whole time, he read your papers, he watched your online classes, he did everything to keep you close to him. And he waited patiently for you. 

Pitt was watching you again, they needed someone like you to teach new doctors on the night shift and to take the hospital to the next level, so they offered you another deal. 

You accepted right away. No questions asked. 

Your first call was to Robby and Dana, you decided to let them know you were coming back to work at the hospital again. They were really happy, especially Dana for getting her coffee partner back. You thought about texting Jack, but the uncertain feeling if we ever wanted to hear about you again made you tremble with fear, so you didn’t. Perhaps he already knew you were coming back. 

He did. 

The cold Pittsburg breeze brought back the familiar memories once again. The laughter, the tears, the pain and the comfort. You needed that so bad, you almost didn’t feel the moisture on your cheeks and your heavy breathing. 

Nothing like home, right?

You got into the hospital fifteen minutes before your shift started. You were overjoyed to be there surrounded by so many familiar faces. Princess and Perlah were the first ones to see you, for a fraction of seconds you almost missed their hugs. 

“You are so back! Thank God.” Princess held you tighter, shaking you in her arms. 

“I’m so glad to be back.” They let you go and you went straight to the nursing station, catching Robby and Dana’s attention. 

“I can’t believe my eyes.” Robby’s words made you blush, embracing them. “We missed you here, London.” 

“London?” You questioned him with eyebrows raised. 

“Only the best of us came back, I’m glad you did.” Dana whispered, kissing your temple. 

“I can’t wait to see you making these guys peed in their pants.” 

“It’s going to be a pleasure to make them fear me.” Robby gasped, making you laugh a little louder. 

The nurses joined in for a warm hug and some small talk, even Garcia showed up to see you and you were really surprised to find out she’s literally dating a girl from the residency. She just mouthed you that you talk more later and moved back to the OR. You really missed those people and suddenly life was so much better and lighter. 

He was watching everything from the other side of the room. His heart filled with something he couldn’t give a name right away. You looked different in his eyes. Maybe your hair, your bone structure, your cheeks. He didn’t know. Still the most beautiful person he’d ever seen.  You were there, so close to him and he was paralyzed. Frozen in his own world. 

Jack spent nights imagining how he would react when you come back, how he would take you in his arms and forget the rest about the rest, kiss your face and plead you to not walk away ever again, to make his arms home once more. But you were right there and he lost his ability to move and be a fucking person. 

You caught his eyes and gave him a shy smile. Not going straight to him, giving the time you knew he was going to need before doing something else and besides, you were so involved with the crew that for a millisecond you forgot about the butterfly in your stomach almost making you throw up there. 

He wasn’t ready to talk to you. Not yet. Jack heard the rumors, he knew you’ll be back soon to be in the hospital again. Same shift, same people, different you, different him. He hated the change. At the same time, he needed to have you right over there next to him to make sure you weren’t going anywhere far from him. His mind was racing with millions of things and most of them were about you.

By the time the shift started, you were already with the students, talking about your work and what you expect them to do and learned from you. They noticed how smillish and nice you seem just for the way you lead them through the trauma bay introducing one by one to the team. First Shen, who was too energetic by your return to stop talking and then Ellis, who were all sweet and great with everybody else. Bridget couldn’t keep her hands to herself, hugging you in all the opportunities she had. And then Jack, he was serious the whole time, shaking the students hands and quickly looking at you. 

“This is the night shift crew. If I’m not around you can always ask them for help. Doctor Shen is the sweetest person here but you don’t want to piss him off. Dr. Ellis is an amazing teacher if you want to learn something and I’m pretty sure you want to, again guys, don’t piss her off.” You took a deep breath and looked at him. “This is doctor Abbot, he is the best trauma surgeon here and if I were you, I’ll try to be nice to him, he’s a surprise box to solve problems and rage Dr. Walsh.”

You tried your best to focus on them, ignoring his hot gaze on your face, reading you microexpressions like it was his newspaper. His presence made you overwhelmed enough to stumble in a few words. They introduced themselves to them and led them to the patients they were looking for at night. 

Jack liked the new version of you. Confident, smarter, better. Watching you teach was absolutely incredible, you delivered everything without problems, making these kids really think and understand what took him years to do. The more he looked, the more he wanted to take you home and forget about the three years you were gone. 

“Want a picture, Abbot?” You teased him, leaning against the counter with a tablet in hand. 

“If looking at a pretty thing is a crime put me in the fucking jail.” He crossed his arms, locking your gaze. 

“Good to know your taste hasn't changed.” 

“We’re talking about something really serious and I don’t play about anything that revolves around you.” He admitted, coming closer to where you were. “You were missed around here.” 

“I missed being here too.” Your words sounded like a whisper as he was getting closer. 

“We need to talk.” Jack held your arm, softly caressing your skin. 

“Abbot’s pancakes?” 

“You’re still bossy, wow.” He would do whatever you asked. “Whatever you want, gorgeous.” 

“Asshole.” You dismissed him, going the other way shaking your head. 

The next hours felt like you’ve never gone away for three years. The crew was the same you remembered but better and your tiredness didn’t turn out to be an issue. At 07 am you were pretty awake, the adrenaline was making you excited and you couldn’t stop moving around the room. 

You spent at least twenty minutes explaining about your patients to the day crew before really leaving the ER. It was a great day for you, the familiar taste of doing what you love with people you love made your heart ache with happiness. You were glad to be there again. 

Jack was waiting for you at the parking lot, hands in his pockets and eyes on you. You approached him slowly, stopping a few steps away. He watched your face with a discreet smirk, shaking his head. 

He followed you to your car, making sure you were safe enough to drive to his house - the same one you shared for almost two years. The unease on your chest was making you almost throw up in your car. You parked in the driveway, watching the house from the outside for a while. He was still watching you, he couldn’t stop himself from that. 

The small garden you cultivated was still intact, the pink flowers you loved and a few other plants that weren’t there before. He took care of the garden religiously for you. That was his way of hoping you come back to him. You walked towards the entrance slowly, capturing the details you missed while away. Jack finally put the swing on the front porch, like you planned on doing to make the house seem more cozy. 

“I thought it would be nice to sit here sometimes to watch the neighborhood.” He mentioned and opened the door for you. 

The inside was the same you remembered. The picture frames, the decoration. He changed some furniture but the rest looked the same. He still kept the picture of you two above the fireplace with the same flowers you used to put there. In your heed, when he did those things brought him some hope to believe you were coming back to him.

“You still buy the flowers?” You asked, turning your face to look at him. 

“Every wednesday at the farmers market.” He nodded, walking to the kitchen. 

Everything looked the same, like you never left. Even the cinnamon smell you absolutely loved lingered in the air. 

The kitchen was absolutely your favorite place in the house. You got to spend hours sitting at the table doing your shit or just baking whatever came to your head, sipping tea and being loved. Jack had the perfect vision from the living room when you were in the kitchen. He never told you but he had a lot of pictures of you sitting there existing like you’re the only God he believed. 

He served you some coffee and went back to the other side of the counter, putting the ingredients to do the pancakes you asked. The comfortable silence was pleasant, reminding you of the morning you shared in the same way: him doing the breakfast and you enjoying the view. 

“How was London? Last time I heard you were the chief of the trauma department there.” Jack was trying his best to avoid the topic he needed to talk about. 

“It was good. Cold, rainy and absolutely no pancakes.” You joked, crossing your arms over the table. “I had a good time, did things I only dreamed of, taught a lot of people and got to travel a bit.” 

“You traveled? Where did you go?” He seemed interested. 

“I went to visit Greece, did a tour around Italy with a couple of friends, my nephews came to visit me during winter and we went skiing in Switzerland.” You sipped more coffee, smiling at the memories. “I went to a safari, Jack!” Your words slipped in a funny way and he recognized how happy you were. “You would’ve loved that.”

“Yeah, I can imagine.” Suddenly he stopped in his tracks to finally watch you. 

You appeared relaxed, leaning against the chair, hair messed in a bun, jacket already off and barefoot. Looking like an absolute dream. Like the love of his life. 

“I missed you, you know? A lot.” You admitted, looking away from him. “I almost called you so many times and never had the courage to do it.” 

“I would’ve picked on the first ring.” He chuckled, mixing the ingredients trying to not stare for too long. “I wrote you some letters and a journal.” 

“You did?” Jack nodded, making you smile larger. “I may have taken some pictures of things and places that reminded me of you and kept them on an album to give to you. I hope you enjoy the crazy selfies and the endless comments on the people.” He laughed, picturing the scenes. 

He took his time to finish the pancakes, putting them on the table and sitting across from you with his cup of coffee. The dynamics between you haven’t changed at all, he still knew what you needed before you asked and you still read his face with ease. 

“I thought I had lost you forever.” Jack declared, making you stop. “The day I let you go was the worst day of my life, I felt so powerless and selfish. I couldn’t be the reason you give up your dreams because they were in you before I was present in your life and being the motive of your unhappiness was going to kill me.” You felt your stomach drop. “The nights feel dull and tasteless without you, I try to get through them but they seem so endless. The night shift sucked without you there, our bed was cold, I barely slept thinking about you.”

“The idea of you finding somebody else and deciding to marry and have children.” He didn’t continue and you held his hand. 

“Jack, I am yours and yours only.” You squeezed his hand. “I spent a few weeks crying before bed, wanting to run back to you. The day I went on that plane I left a piece of my heart with you. The life we were building, the plans, the marriage, the children.” You mumbled with tears, chuckling. “Never crossed my mind doing those things with anybody else. It’s always been you and it’s always gonna be. Besides, European guys are not that attractive.” His jaw tensed and you burst out laughing. “I’m just messing with you.” 

“I hate this.” He rolled his eyes, shaking his head. 

“Whatever you say, honey.” You winked, giggling under your breath. 

“Does this mean we can start over?” He asked, holding your gaze. 

“Always, Jack.” You smiled. 

That’s how after breakfast you ended up moving back to your place. The countless boxes with your stuff, bags filled with clothes and your favorite book collection around his living room. You were tired but nothing like the feeling of being home with him. Jack sent you to sleep a while later, finding you curled in his side of the bed, holding his pillow to smell his scent. 

He enjoyed the quietness of the morning to go through the album you made him. Pink cover with some shells and his name in gold letters. On the first page he found a small note you wrote. 

“To Jack.  I hope you know I thought about you a lot and these memories are an extension of my endless love for you.  Love, your girl.”

He couldn't contain a smile with the note, sighing as he passed to the next pages. The first real picture was you outside the hospital in London, bright smile, fearless, beautiful as ever. The note under the picture made him giggle, flushed.  

“You wished me good day before I took this. It was in fact a good day ‘cause I imagined you with me all the time.”

He kept passing the pages, amused by the great photos and the small remarks that sounded too much like you. His favorite was one of you sitting at the safari cart, wearing a pink cap, caressing a giraffe with one hand and with the other showing the necklace he gifted you a few years ago, the largest smile he’d ever seen, eyes shining and cheeks red from laughing. A look he recognized damn well. What made the picture even better was the small text. 

“I was in the safari in this. When theguide was tooking the picture the fucking lion roared next to the cart, almost peed my pants. Definitely not like Lion King, Disney lied to us. The cap was a gift from a child at the village I visited, he said it was to protect me and I truly believed in his words. The necklace is to represent you with me there and the giraffe, well, I’m in love. You would’ve loved this trip. I want to come back with you. Honeymoon maybe?”  Love, your (not so) wild girl.” 

He saw fragments of yourself, a version he was glad you enjoyed while doing the things you loved and still think about him so highly. He didn’t deserve you. Jack would never admit that you’re the light of his life, the shining star that guides him home every time he feels lost. 

You were exactly where you’re supposed to be. 

In his life, in his home, his bed, laying in his sheets with your favorite pink pajamas, being absolutely his. 

[fruitiesss]

bob reynolds NSFW alphabet !

as requested lol, i listened to the people and the people want bob smut.

MINORS + AGELESS DNI. SMUT.

send requests in! characters are on my pinned posts, just give me a hot minute to write them ^^

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) Bob's very into cuddling and being close in general, he's also a human heater so if you're not cold you're gonna have to push him off until you are (his pouty face ensues). If it was really messy, he'll run a bath and get in with you situated on his lap. He keeps water bottles by the bed and isn't above running quickly to the store to grab some food if you need it.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) Bob likes his hands. They're almost constantly in use because he likes to fidget and read, so he's more than capable with them, and he loves the way you come apart under them.

He'd like your thighs and hips, it's something to hold onto while he fucks into you or when you ride him. He also loves the squishiness of them, much better than any stress relief toys you buy him.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) Bob's never been in the place mentally (or physically) to risk having a kid at his age. He's always used condoms or pulled out when he's been in quick hook-ups before (though not many, he's quite inexperienced). You would have to sit him down and discuss kids with him first, but even then he's still hesitant and nervous.

He prefers to cum on your stomach or back if you'd let him. He cleans it up fast though, knowing the stickiness when it dries is less than desirable.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) He rarely watches porn - why would he need to, he has you! - but does when you're away on a long mission or a trip. He takes inspiration from it and tries to incorporate a position or kink he'd watched that he thought you might like.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?) This boy is inexperienced. As I said before, he's had a few hook-ups here and there but he's never been interested enough to learn. You're gonna have to teach him a few things and he is so eager to please you in any way you want. He's incredibly good at following orders.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying) COWGIRL. FUCKING RIDE HIM HE WILL CUM INSTANTLY. Just the way he can see you - all of you - makes him harder than a fucking rock. Ugh, this man will have his hands anywhere, eyes half lidded in pure bliss as he watches you bounce.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.) Bob's a mix of both. He's serious when he's concentrating, trying to reach the spot that makes your toes curl, but he laughs and jokes with you when he's not. He can't take himself seriously and neither can you, it feels so good but it's also really funny.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) He's never taken care of himself properly before. Now that he's clean, he probably trims a little down there so it's not completely unbearable but he won't be smooth or clean shaven. He dyed his hair blonde ONCE and nobody will let him forget it, so YES the carpet matches the drapes thank you. He also doesn't mind if you shave or not. Hair is natural and he understands that, he actually prefers if you don't shave, as long as you're clean.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect) Sex for him is all about connection. He's done the unfeeling, unromantic stuff before and he hates it. You are his everything and he needs you to know that. He's complimenting you with every other word, letting you know how much he loves you or how good you make him feel. He is all about you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) He rarely jacks off because you're right there all the time. Though when you're out of town or on a long mission he will do it a couple of times just to keep himself sated until you can come back. He's needy for you always.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) BOB LIKES HIS HAIR BEING PULLED. Grab it by the roots and pull and he will give you the sweetest sound you've ever heard. He loves praise too, call him a good boy and he's already on his knees for you so he can do anything you want. He's a switch 100%, will do anything you want but likes to be dominated sometimes.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do) He likes being in bed with you, he's very hesitant to do anything in public because you're his to see and he's yours to see. He will if you really want to, but he won't like it. When he's really needy, he'll corner you wherever you are in the tower until you take him up to one of your rooms, with him following like a dog on a leash.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) You. If you're in the mood, he's in the mood. If he sees you, he's in the mood. Wearing something revealing? He's on you. You opened the floodgates when you first laid with him now lie in the bed you made.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) He's not into any kind of bodily fluid (other than cum, obviously) or anything where he hurts you or you hurt him. He refuses to lay a hand on you. Unless it's a soft slap. Impact play is a big no no.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) He likes to get his dick sucked. He loves it, actually. You look so pretty on your knees with his cock in your mouth. He prefers giving, though! He wasn't so good at it when he started out but he has definitely gotten much better since he started out and he is a MUNCH. This man will spend hours between your legs if he can, his intense eyes staring into yours.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) Bob as a person is very soft and sweet despite everything he's been through. He would take it slow and sweet with you, afraid to break you as if you were made of glass. He could take you fast and rough but he wouldn't be able to keep it up.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) He doesn't like them. Too fast, it blurs in his head. He needs to know you're satisfied before he can leave you. He will take you for a quickie if you really, really beg him and only if you're in a place where you can't get to your beds.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.) He likes to experiment with anything you bring to him. He'll do anything (other than his nos) at least once.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?) Thanks to his powers, he has very good stamina. He'll last about 6 rounds with water breaks in between but if you wanted more, he will give you more. Anything for you. He'd last the whole day for you.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) He's never seen the need for them. His hand did the job just fine when he was low on money (or needed the money for drugs) and even now he doesn't see the need for toys. He doesn't get jealous if you have any toys either, he'll use them on you if you're into that.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) He thinks he's a tease but really he gives in whenever you so much as pout at him or whine. He's so smitten for you and wants to provide everything you need.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) Bob will be quiet at first, biting into his hand to stifle any of his moans or grunts so he can fully hear the beautiful noises he elicits from you. But that's when he's on top. Get him submissive and that boy is LOUD for you. Pull his hair and he WILL moan. Overstimulate him and he WILL whine.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character) He likes to bite and suck marks into your skin. Especially in those spots that are hard to cover up. It gives him a sense of pride, knowing that he did that to you. He's also very bitey in general. Very cute.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) He's not small at all but he'd not HUGE. I'd say he's 6 inches, nice and thick. Knows how to use it once he gets the hang of sex in general. It curves slightly to the left and has a nice pink tip, cut.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?) This guy is super needy. He's ready for you at any time, you just need to ask and he's already pouncing on you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) He only lets himself fall asleep once he's sure you're comfortable enough to. He is very sleepy after, though. He's falling asleep as he's scrubbing you in the bath, head slumping forward onto your shoulder until you nudge him. Once you're taken care of though, he's out like a light on the bed.

[datamodel-of-disaster]

"It's bad and if you don't tell them you know it's bad then they'll think you're stupid."

THIS. This right here is the source of all the irony-poisoned, insincere bullshit in our culture. This is the core of what cringe really is.

The fear of wholeheartedly loving/living/enjoying something in the face of potential group disapproval. Of being perceived not just as having bad taste, but as unaware that others think the thing is bad, aka stupid.

It is implied in this fear that "interacting with the audience", the meta-think of "existing as though observed" is an inevitable, perhaps even fundamental part of the human experience. It implies that the opinion of the presumed observer trumps your own and that to not acknowledge the observer is tantamount to being dumb and embarrassing.

But OP is right. This will ruin your life if you let it.

The only way to lead a fulfilling, authentic life is to live it unapologetically. Acknowledging the (often invisible or imaginary) observer only gives it power over you that it doesn't deserve. You gotta dance, write, draw, exist, as though no one's watching. That's the only way to live.

you'll get the urge as an artist or a writer to say out loud the things you're worried about "the proportions are off" "kind of out of character" "i'm not good at summaries" "didn't get as much detail as i wanted" "i made a mistake and here's how" and that's the self-conscious part of your brain telling you "it's bad and if you don't tell them you know it's bad then they'll think you're stupid" but you've got to ignore that little voice and pretend you think it's good or else that little voice is going to ruin your life

[ohtobeleah]

Purgatory // Jack Abbot

Part 2of2

Summary: A patient brought in with the Pittfest mass casualty event experiences a psychosis of some sort. Jack Abbot doesn’t know it, but while he’s elbow deep in saving some guy's bowel…you’re attacked while just trying to help.

Warnings: Jack Abbot x Nurse!reader. Violence against women. Angst/whump.mediocre medical knowledge. Hurt!reader. Established relationship. Age gap marriage. Older male x younger reader. Ambiguous ending.

Word Count: 5.8k

Author Note: Welp, it's great this storyline is finally out of my brain. Please enjoy the hurt/comfort. This took longer than originally expected to finish, so im glad you stuck around for it.

Previous Chapter

At the end of the day, the experience of practising medicine bears little resemblance to the dream. Jack Abbot went into medicine because he wanted to save lives. He went into medicine because he wanted to do good. 

He went into medicine for the rush, the high, for the ride. 

But what he tends to remember at the end of most days are the losses. When he lies awake at night, he replays the pain he caused or failed to cure. The lives he ruined or failed to save. So the experience of practising medicine, for Jack Abbot, that is, rarely resembles the goal. 

The experience is, too often, ass-backwards and upside down. 

And then, somehow, improbably and when you least expect it, the world rights itself again…

“She’s stable,” Two words that keep hope alive in Jack’s heart against all the odds. “For now, but it’s been touch and go, you know how it goes.” It was one of the ICU doctors who spoke to Jack like a colleague and not just another family member. 

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Jack replied. He stood firm with his arms crossed over his chest. “An infection?” He frowned, still trying to wrap his head around the idea that you had gotten worse before his very eyes. You were showing all the right signs of recovery. And then you coded…

The ICU, room one, bed one. Arguably, the most important room in the entire hospital. Reserved for critical patients on the brink. The touch and goes. 

“SSI’s just sprint.” Your primary physician spoke as he shrugged his shoulders, mimicking Jack’s stance and body language as the pair watched you with an intensity that would have made anyone uncomfortable. “I’m optimistic, she’s healthy, young,” Jack caught the way that word fell from his colleague’s mouth. It had always been a topic of conversation around the hospital. The age gap between the two of you. It was no secret that Jack was nineteen years your senior. 

“She thinks you’re an arrogant son of a bitch, you know?” Jack wasn’t shy about the way he said it. He wanted Adam to know what you thought of him, even if he played a helping hand in saving your life. Because in reality? Regardless f he was a great doctor, he was still a fucking prick or a thing. 

“All I’m saying is, she was healthy before she was injured, she’s strong, has good odds even given the current circumstances.” You occupied the space like a ghost haunting an old, decrepit house with a tragic story just for the history books. “When she wakes up, she can tell me to my face.” 

“I put in a transfer to work nights here for a while.” The ICU had its own rules and regulations around visitors. How many, what times, how long, ect ect. Jack wasn’t willing to play the game the way he was being told…He just wanted to be next to you. 

“That so?” Jack’s colleague, Adam, raised his eyebrows in a shocked expression. “You know, even if you’re on shift and she takes a turn, you can’t–” 

“I know, I know,” Jack sighed. He was sick of being told he couldn’t help you. It was killing him. He had all these skills, all this knowledge and ability…Yet it was all worth shit when it came to you. “If one more person tells me that.” 

“My little girl was in here a few months ago,” Adam explained, hoping to give Jack some comfort in the back seat he found himself in. “It’s hard to relinquish trust in others when it comes to our family members, at the end of the day, yes, she’s your wife,” Adam emphasised the wife part, just to remind Jack that you weren’t dead yet and that you were still very much his wife. “But I gotta tell you, brother, she’s the most important person in my case load, I won’t let you, or her, down,” Adam was firm. He was stern. “Work down here as long as you need to, but I got her, only reason she’s here is because that damn SSI just went sleeper agent until it was ready to erupt.” 

Jack acknowledged his colleague’s words with a tight-lipped nod before he made his way over to your bedside, pulling out the chair he’s spent hours in already. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” Jack’s entire demeanour changed when he was with you; everyone saw it. Adam just watched on silently as Jack held your hand between his, whispering sweet nothings like prayers to a god he didn’t believe in. “It’s been too long, I need you here, I don’t know how to…” The pause, the weighted silence that filled the room. It was heavier than Jack expected. “I don’t know how to do this without you, I need you to wake up, I’m not asking, I’m not giving you anymore time here, stop being a stubborn–” 

“Woah–” Robby interrupted from the doorway. Jack didn’t even need to turn around to recognise his best friend’s voice. “I wouldn’t wanna wake up if you were talkin to me like that,” He faked insult with raised eyebrows and a small sigh. His hands held his stethoscope on either side as he walked in. Adam made his way out, there were far too many people in your room for his liking. “How’s my favourite drama queen doing today?” 

“She’s stable,” Jack relayed what Adam had told him. “For now.” 

“Oh, I wasn’t talking about Y/n,” Robby snickered to himself as he placed a gentle hand on Jack’s shoulder. “How are you, brother? Talk to me.” 

“It just feels like…” Jack sighed to himself as he tried to think of the perfect word to describe what he was feeling. All the emotions. All the built-up regret. The trauma. The sleepless nights and empty stomach. The constant nausea from worry. This wasn’t who he was. 

But it was the effect you had on him. He loved you more than he loved himself, and that was clear to everyone around Jack Abbot. 

“...Purgatory.” Jack settled on a word. A complete sentence. One word to describe all the pain, the heartbreak, the sorrow. 

Robby nodded with tight lips as he checked over your monitors. Again, all signs were pointing in the right direction. But he’d said the same thing before you coded. He was confident in you that you'd pull through with no further complications or deficits. He didn't venture down to the ICU often, not since Covid at least. But you were family. 

“I can't lose her.” 

“I don’t think she’s letting you off the hook that easily,” Robby chuckled softly. You were like a sister to him. An annoying extension of Jack Abbot himself. “Go home, get some rest, you have to start taking more care of yourself. I’ll sit with her for a while and call if anything changes.” 

“She coded when I took a shower, I'm not going anywhere,” Jack argued. His demeanour hardened within the blink of an eye. “I'll sit with her until my shift starts.” 

Robby knew it was pointless to argue, but it was six thirty in the fucking morning and it was too early to have a headache. So he conceded to Jack's stubborn desire to remain by your side. Robby knew if it were him in Jack's shoes, he’d be losing it too. 

“Fine, page me if you need something. Can I tell the crew you’re in the building so that if you’re needed?” 

“Always,” Jack replied. His intense gaze never left you. He was hoping if he made up uncomfortable enough that you’d wake up and tell him to fuck off. 

Much to his own dismay, you didn't. Instead of counting sheep like a normal person, Jack knew that the little sleep he’d get the next time his eyes closed, he’d be counting worst-case scenarios without you to calm his mind and ease his nerves. 

—--------------------------------------------

“Ignore him. He had a rough night and is having an ongoing existential crisis.” Robby teases, but not really. The statement is true. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll get there soon enough,” Jack replied. He’d had enough. Even a workaholic needs a break from time to time. All things considered, Jack was well overdue. “Jesus fucking christ, get me outta here.” He looked up to the heavens above, well, the fluorescent lights at least. 

“He doesn’t answer whenever I call,” You sighed as you came round the corner of the nurse’s station, deciding to plant yourself with a thud on the chair Jack was originally leaning over. “So if he answers, I know he’s playing fucking favorites.” 

“What’s up with you?” Jack frowned. He hadn’t seen you in what felt like hours. It probably had been hours, but the Emergency Room felt like an endless pit of disappear on its good days. Time was only relevant in the concept of saving lives, not society’s standards. 

“That arrogant son of a bitch from ICU was called down to consult, tried to hit me up for my number again.” You grumbled as you rummaged through all your pockets, emptying the bits and bobs you’d collected throughout your shift. “He knows we’re married, right?” You finally looked up to where Jack had been standing with his arms now crossed over his chest. 

“It’s probably the only thing known about me around here,” Jack replied as you let your head hang back, exposing your neck in a way that shouldn’t have made Jack’s heart race…but it did. You were his wife at the end of the day. And he was at the very core of it all…

Just a guy who loved his wife. 

“That’s what I’m saying!” You groaned. Jack watched as you cupped your face and let out an exaggerated sigh into your palms. “Men, I hope I never end up as one of his patients.” 

“You and me both, slugger, need me to have a chat with him?’ Jack asked with a genuine concern in his voice. “Just say the word and–” 

You panicked at the very thought, Jack could tell as you shot up and uncovered your face.

“No, thank you.” You smiled softly. “I don’t want someone going missing, or worse.” You gave Jack a look he recognised immediately. A few months ago, there had been an incident involving a scalpel, your husband and one of the male nurses from the renal ward. 

“I keep a knife in my pocket.” Jack joked, sending you a wink. But there was a small part of him that wasn’t joking. He’d kill whoever he had to if they were putting you in an awkward position. 

“I’m good, down boy.” Your smile was as infectious, the best kind of medicine. Jack smiled, nodding in agreement. 

He remembered his reason to keep coming back. Not that he truly ever forgot. The wedding band wrapped around his left ring finger was a permanent fixture. 

“Before we get too far away, everyone!” Robby’s voice sounded off in earshot of where Jack stood. He was getting closer. “I’d like to introduce you all to Y/n.” 

“Uh, hi?” You waved slightly, still sitting on the spinning chair you had crashed into before. Jack knew it was probably the first time you’d sat down all shift. 

“This is Dr. Jack Abbot,” Once again, Robby introduced his best friend, but this time to all the new residents. Not just Mel. “Y/n here is gonna be your best friend in the Pitt.”   

“Oh, for the love of—“ 

Jack smirked as he interrupted you, “He doesn’t call either.” He swore that if you had rolled your eyes any harder at him, you would have fallen over. 

“Treat her with respect and she’ll make your shift as smooth as possible,” Robby explained. He respected you way too much for him not to pass that onto his students. “Disrespect her? And you're automatically out of here, end of story.” 

“I thought Dana was the charge nurse?” Dr. Santos asked. Jack frowned slightly at her question. But she wasn’t wrong. It was just her delivery. 

“Yeah,” Robby caught the look on Jack’s face. “But she isn’t married to Dr. Abbot here, and there’s a reason he works nights.”

“He bites.” You teased quickly with a smirk at the new residents. Jack was quick to correct your statement. 

“I don’t bite.” It was like a drug to him. The banter. The flirtatious love that radiated off the two of you. Jack loved you with everything he was. “What is your problem?” 

Jack saw that you went to respond. He saw that look in your eye. That inappropriate look. That look that told him you were about to say something completely out of pocket. Something downright crude. But you didn’t get the chance to before Robby interrupted. 

“Point is!” Robby raised his eyebrows in the way someone would when they narrowly avoid an awkward moment. “She’s important to us, which means she’s important to you guys, and you guys have been warned,” He chuckled as he crossed his arms over his chest and swayed his hips side to side casually. “If you’d like to push the boundaries, by all means, have at it, but Dr. Abbot here doesn’t do bullshit.” 

Jack nodded. He admired you with a pride like no other. You were nothing short of a superhero with everything that you did around here. “Our nurses, especially my one, know what they’re doing. Never hesitate to listen to them, especially?” Jack raised his eyebrows, waiting for the residents to finish his sentence. 

“This one,” Everyone croaked out nervously. 

“Well done.” Jack was satisfied. Soon enough, he was turning back to where you sat, now slumped into your chair a little further. 

“Don’t listen to him,” Sighing, you stood. “But seriously, don’t make my life miserable.” It was a tease…but Jack knew you were also quietly begging them not to make your life harder than it needed to be. Sometimes doctors had a tendency to forget just how important and valuable nurses are in the medical field. 

Robby ushered all his ducklings away. Every year, they came through all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed tailed not knowing hell awaited them. Jask watched the group walk away until they were out of his peripheral vision. 

“Thank fuck this shift is over, lets get the fuck outta here.” Jack groaned as he tapped you on the shoulder. Giving you a small pep up to get up off the chair. You rose to your feet and met your husband’s gaze. 

There was nothing but mutual admiration in both your eyes. A love that ran deep. A fierce, unconditional understanding that this was it for both of you. 

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.” 

—---------------------------------

Humans like to think that they’re rational beings. Humane. Conscientious. Civilised. Thoughtful. But when things fall apart, even just a little, it becomes clear. We’re no better than animals. 

We have opposable thumbs. We think. We walk erect. We speak. We dream. But deep down, we’re all still rooting around in the primordial ooze. Biting. Clawing. Scratching out an existence. 

In the cold, dark world, like the rest of the tree toads and sloths. 

“This is your third session. And you still haven’t said anything yet.” The man who sat across from Jack said as he placed his clipboard down. “Now, while I love the quiet time, um…” 

“I read a study that, uh, says that just the, you know, act of going to thearaly is beneficial, even if you don’t say anything. Even if you just sit.” Jack explained as he sat quietly across the small office from his therapist. 

His second therapist. This was work-mandated therapy. Twice a week. Jack wasn’t going to stop working, but he also wasn’t allowed to keep working if he didn’t speak to a professional. 

“So you thought you’d come here and just sit?” His name was Ben. Jack didn’t have a problem with Ben. It was just that Jack already had a pretty good therapist. And he wasn’t the kind of person who just went about telling anyone willing to listen about his problems. “That’s how you’re gonna solve your problems?” 

“I don’t have problems.” Jack didn’t hesitate to correct his work-ordered therapist. He just wanted to get back down to work. But it was Thursday night, which meant Jack Abbot had a forty-five-minute session of mandatory therapy to get through before he could begin his shift. 

“What brings you here?” Ben reiterated. He knew denial like the back of his hand. It's what he did best. Denying the inevitable. That's why he became a grievance guide. Someone to help people transition through death as easily as possible. 

“Look, I’m fine,” Jack sighed as he leaned forward so that his elbows could rest on his knees. He tossed the idea around in his head, the one about telling Ben he wasn’t really sleeping too well. “It’s just–I haven’t been sleeping an awful lot.” 

Ben raised an eyebrow. This was good. This was progress. This was clipboard-worthy. 

The truth of the matter was that Jack hadn't slept a decent amount since your accident. He was working doubles. Doing anything in his power to remain busy. Because if he stopped to think about you for just a second? He wanted to collapse. 

He wanted to die because living in a world without you was something straight out of a horror show. Jack had seen wartime practices. He'd experienced loss to the maximum degree. He never lost his cool in chaos. But you? 

You made him unravel in ways he couldn't begin to explain. Layer by layer, like an onion, you weaselled your way into every fibre of his being. 

“How long have you not been sleeping?” Ben asked casually. This was new. This was the most he had been able to get out of Dr. Abbot in days. He’d been assigned to him as a new patient under the banner of grievance counselling. 

Only Jack wasn’t aware of that as he spoke about his non-existent sleeping routine. 

“You know,” He shrugged. He wasn't about to say it either. “It’s been six weeks and I can’t sleep.” 

“Six weeks since what?” Ben didn’t mean to press too much, but he wanted Jack to keep opening up. It was small steps. But the first step needed to be Jack saying it. Saying why he was here. At grievance counselling. 

That you were dying. There was a high probability that you weren't going to wake up. That's why he was here. Jack had to know that, right? 

Sensing Jack’s hesitation to keep going, Ben interjected with something bordering on professionalism and out-of-scope practices. 

“Look, I work in this hospital. I try not to listen to gossip, but this is a very gossipy place.” Jack hated that his dude worked in the hospital too. Whatever happened to work-life balance? Not that he had a balance of any sort. But seeing a therapist in the hospital where your wife is in a coma, in which you also work, seems like a lot of sway for the work side. “So there are some things that I’ve heard–” 

“Y/n isn’t the reason I’m here.” Jack interrupted his therapist’s train of thought. You weren't the problem. You could never be a problem. 

“Then what brings you here?” Ben tried again, this time with more intent. He needed Jack to snap out of this delusion he found himself in, one where you were okay and he wasn’t having conversations with your care team about end-of-life care. 

“You know, I gotta go, I have to check in with my patients and see who’s next on the wheel of misfortune.” He didn’t really. But Jack would rather be anywhere else in the world than in this office, with this…guy. 

“Dr. Abbot, if you’d just–!” But it was too late. Jack was making distance down the hall. So much so that instead of ending up in the Emergency Department, he ended up at the double doors to the ICU. 

With his hands in the pockets of his cargo pants, Jack Abbot stared long and hard at the closed, automatic doors. He knew you were right behind them, still off in whatever place you’d gone to that wasn’t here with him. 

Six weeks… 

It had been six agonisingly sleepless weeks of you in this stupid ward. The ICU ward. The ward they make you buzz in for every time. God he hated that shit. Because sometimes there wasn’t someone at the desk to buzz you. 

They stopped allowing Jack from using his credentials to gain access to the ICU when he wasn’t technically working. Another bullshit rule he hated. 

*Buzz*

“ICU, visiting hours are over.” There was no care in the time of voice that came through the speaker. Jack made a note of that. Whoever it was that greeted him, a family member just wanted to visit a loved one in need, needed a crash course in bedside manner. 

“It’s Dr. Abbot.” That was all Jack said into the small microphone on the wall. There was nothing else said on the other end either; the doors simply opened. 

But the bedside manner talk could wait. Everything else in the world could wait. Because once Jack was in the ICU, all that mattered was you. He thrived in emergencies. Jack Abbot was a soul who knew how to remain calm in storms. He knew how to problem-solve and control chaos. 

But it all crumbled when he saw you, his wife, still plugged up to every machine known to man with every bit of lifesaving intervention that could help keep you here with him. 

“I just sat in my third appointment this week without speaking,” Jack says to you like you’re listening to him. He believes it to some extent. “Ben, god, I hate that guy,” He sighs heavily as he sits beside you. Checking every monitor and every stat as he does. 

Normal. Everything’s fucking normal so why are you not waking up? Even the sedation had decreased. 

“What am I even doing here?” Jack frowns. He knows this isn't healthy. “You aren’t waking up, are you?” It’s a question that Jack wants to be wrong about. But he knows that after eight weeks, two before your SSI and six weeks with, your chances were dwindling.

“I miss you so much.” It’s a pained moment, a tight feeling inside his chest. Jack thinks maybe he’s having a heart attack. But it’s just his breaking in a way he’d never experienced before. “You have you, you know, wake up.” There are tears now. Jack swears he doesn’t remember when he started crying. Or when he reached out to move the hair from your face. Or when your hand was wrapped tightly in his. He missed the way you’d squeeze his hand back in times of troubleshooting. “Because all this talk of you maybe…not…is scaring me out of my mind.” 

There’s a little animal in all of us. And maybe that’s something to celebrate. Our animal instinct is what makes us seek comfort. Warmth. A pack to run with. 

We may feel caged. We may feel trapped. But still, as humans, we can all still find ways to feel free. We are each other's keepers. We are the guardians of our humanity. 

Even though there are beasts inside all of us, what sets us apart from animals is that we can think, feel, dream and love…and against all odds, against all instinct, we evolve. 

It was something Jack's actual therapist would tell him from time to time when things felt especially hard. But right now, after watching you slowly fade away from him over the course of eight weeks, Jack had started to believe he was maybe two weeks away from being sent to the pound. 

“I can't have you stuck here like this anymore, you gotta give me something to work with, sweetheart,” Jack begs. He doesn't want to make the call himself. And he also can't bring himself to give up. “You gotta pull through, you don't have a choice here, I'm telling you, and that's it.” 

It's a gentle squeeze that Jack doesn't register at first. 

“Yeah, you heard me, no excuses, no damn choice, wake up.” He speaks casually. His mind hasn't caught up to the sensation of your hand squeezing his back. “Woah—hang on, can you hear me?” 

Jack has never moved faster. He's on his feet in seconds. Standing over you with his pocket pen-light in your eyes, shining it directly at you while he holds your face ever so gently. 

“Sweetheart, it's me, can you follow the light?” You do, but only for a brief moment. “I need Dr. Stevenson NOW!” Jack bellows out as he relays what's happening. “She's waking up!” 

Your eyes are barely open, there's still a tube down your throat. But the hand in yours that's squeezing you back is Jack’s. 

The experience is, too often, ass-backwards and upside down. 

And then, somehow, improbably and when you least expect it, the world rights itself again…

“I've got you,” sweetheart,” Jack cries while he holds your hand. He was afraid, as afraid as he was when he lost his leg, that if he let go, you'd never come back. “I'm right here.” 

——————————————-

The first time you could hear something, outside of the context, you needed to understand the topic of discussion, was  “We’ve done the best that we can given the circumstances.” Conversation with your husband. 

But now, without so much as an explanation. You were seeing Jack hovering over you. A bright flash of white light took over your vision for a few seconds. “Ah, angel of mine.” You thought to yourself as Jack's silhouette came back to the forefront of your vision. 

It felt like a dream at first. Nothing felt real or tangible. It was a space between life and death. A place where nothing could grow, age or learn. It was a space for the hopeful. The already dead. The ones who weren’t ready and the ones who were. 

“Purgatory,” You tried to speak but couldn’t. There was something in your throat that panicked you. 

“It's alright, Y/n, you were intubated, but we’re gonna take it out alright? Just a nice deep exhale for us, okay?” Words. They were all just a bunch of mumbled words. You couldn't tell where they were coming from or who they were coming from. 

But the second that tube was pulled from your throat, everything started to hurt. 

“Y/n? Are you with us, Earth side? Talk to us?”

“Feel,” You tried to speak through coughs and splatters. “Hurt.” 

It wasn't exactly what Jack wanted to hear as he watched everything unfold. His hand never left yours as people worked around him. They were all scared to tell him to leave. 

“You've been in a coma, you were attacked on shift a few weeks back and suffered a pretty nasty head trauma? Do you remember that?” The question was asked without much emotional range, maybe because everyone was focusing on getting you to a more comfortable place. Less tubes, fewer wires.

“Yes—” You tried to speak, but everything hurt. Your head felt like it was about to explode. 

“Do you remember anything afterwards?” 

“Jack?” You cracked out. It was barely audible. But he heard you loud and clear. Like you were singing sweet symphonies just for him. 

“I'm here,” He cooed gently with such a desire, it nearly took the limited breath out of your lungs. “I'm right here, shhh, you're okay, you're doing just fine, sweetheart,” 

It was weird for everyone to see Jack with such a burning endearment for your well-being. No one in their right mind was about to tell that man to leave. Not when he'd been down here every day to some extent. Bossing people around. Brooding. Living in existential crisis mode. 

“Never thought I'd see the day!” Somewhat in the shuffle, someone had called Robby down. He was just getting ready to finish up his shift. But if his favourite person was about to grace him with the gift of consciousness, then he wasn't going anywhere. He was right where he needed and wanted to be. “Y/n, how's it feel to be with the living?” He smiled wildly. 

“Like—” It was a struggle. Everything hurt all at once. It was full-body dullness. An incomprehensible ache. “Arse.” 

Robby just smiled down at you. He was taking in the sight of you. Much like Jack was. Only his eyes conveyed a worry that Jack didn't express. He was worried about the possible deficits. 

"I bet,” Robby replied. “I won't sugarcoat it, you've been in the trenches, my friend, but one day at a time we’re gonna get you back on your feet.” 

“Stats are holding, BP is steady, she might be really tired for the next few days.” Dr. Adam Stevenson added. Jack knew all this. He was a seasoned pro in the art of addressing family members. But it still didn't make it easier to be on the receiving end. 

“Where am I?” You questioned softly. Your eyes were barely open. But Jack still had his hand in yours, and that's all that mattered to him. You were squeezing his hand. “What's—what's going on?” 

“You were hurt pretty bad,” Jack started. It was the way that he got as close to you as he possibly could that broke Robby the most. “You never gave up, though.” He continued through tear-stricken eyes. “And then you got sick, but you still never stopped fighting.” It was like Jack was proud of you, or at least that’s how he sounded. You couldn’t do anything but try and smile up at him. The muscles in your face hurt. Everything fucking hurt. 

“How,” You strained out, one word at a time. It felt like you’d just run a marathon. “Are, you?”

“Me?” Jack frowned as his eyes scanned every inch of you. “You have been fighting for your life for eight weeks, and you’re worried me how I am? Me?” When you simply nodded in response, that’s when Jack broke. He let himself cry. He sobbed like he’d been holding everything in. It was like Jack Abbot had taken his first breath in eight long, agonising weeks. “I thought I was gonna lose you.” 

“Hey,” Robby gestured with his chin at Dr. Stevenson, “Let’s give them some space, she’s stable.” He didn’t respond, but he left the room with Robby following right behind. They both stayed close by, unable to take their eyes off your monitors. 

“You were just…gone.” Jack cried as he laid his head next to your torso. Your hand was resting on his cheek, gently caressing his scruff-covered chin. “You just left, and I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get you back.” 

“Why would you lose me?” Jack barely caught it. He thought maybe you were just paying yourself some credit for making it out the other side. But as he looked up at you through teary eyes, he saw it. The split-second seizure. 

“Robby?” Jack called out as he watched your eyes roll into the back of your head. It was only for a brief second, but it still happened. “She's having seizures.” 

“Page neuro, get someone down here,” Adam shouted as he stepped back into the room. Robby was hot on his tail. 

“Where am I?” You asked softly. It broke Jake's heart to see the confusion in your eyes. The pain. The hurt. “Jack?” 

“Where’d you go, sweetheart?” Jack cooed as he ran the pad of his thumb across your chin. “You're good, I've got you.” 

“She's probably experiencing some form of post-traumatic memory loss,” Robby suggested as he observed you. “I'd like to think it's not a permanent thing we’re looking at, but for now, I think we'll run some tests and wait and see what the next few hours bring.”

“We don’t have time to just sit around a fucking wait!” Jack finally cracked. Everyone had been waiting for it for weeks now. They knew he was walking a fine line between keeping his composure and fully losing it on the next person who said something remotely dumb. It was like a full-on out-of-body experience. Anger that knew no bounds. “Jesus fucking christ, am I losing my goddamn mind here? Or did she just forget everything that happened in the last ten minutes?” 

“Something to be expected,” Robby reminded the emergency physician who saw injuries, much like yours, every day. “It's something we prepared for, so it's something we can, hopefully, overcome.” 

“I remember you.” Was all you had to say for Jack to be back inside his own body. The anger had diminished to near nothing. It had been replaced by pure, unconditional love. “I also remember he doesn't answer.” You were just resting your eyes a little. Your eyelids felt like cement blinds. But you knew Jack was smiling. 

“Oh, he answered me today,” He sighed as he leaned in to kiss your cheeks as softly as he could. “Finally, someone up there got the call.” 

“No fucking way,” You mumbled back. Robby had pushed a small amount of pain relief to help keep you comfortable as Jack settled in. He wasn't working tonight. Or tomorrow night, or any other night until he knew you were truly okay. He just got you back. Like hell was he leaving your side. 

“I'd even deem this a miracle,” Robby added. “Besides, this guy's been public enemy number one since you coded in the Emergency Room, so it's nice to have you back to keep him from, you know,” He suggested what all three of you knew. 

“Who are you? Dr. Rabinovitch?” You sighed heavily as you settled. Still holding Jack's hand. He wasn't letting go. Neither were you. 

“Very funny,” Robby smirked, crossing his arms as he did so. “I'll leave the two of you here, but I'll be back with Neuro.” 

Jack never once took his eyes off you. His gaze was all-consuming. It was the eye contact he desperately craved. 

As you looked up at him, Jack's eyes again filled with tears. You were back. You were alive. You were here with him. 

“You've been everyone's issue while I've been gone?” You asked gently in your drug-induced lavender haze. “Haven't you, Abbot?” 

Jack smiled back at you. Counting his lucky stars. Jack knew you’d find out eventually. But he thought, why not give in to you a little? So, without much probing needed. Jack settled into his chair. He pulled up his cargo pants and undid the suction on his prosthetic leg. The titanium limb laid awkwardly on the floor beside him. But this was as comfortable as Jack Abbot was going to get. 

“You don't even know the half of it, sweetheart.” 

And with you by his side? He didn't mind it one little bit.

--------------------------------

[mahmahmahmysharona]

When you don't know why Bob doesn't like you, but a relapse forces you to find out.

(Bob Reynolds x Avenger Reader) Part 1/?

You don't think Bob likes you very much. Especially when the situation goes from being a ragtag group of underdogs to a fully blown Avengers Avengerz(!)-living-together-in-the-tower deal.

In fact, maybe he just doesn't think much about you at all. He's quiet, shy even, with most of the team, but on the rare occasions he contributes more than a mere small smile, you're the last person he's talking to.

It doesn't bother you much. So what if Yelena is his keeper, making sure he's alright and keeping a tactful eye on him? Obviously he'd be more open with her. But still, you wonder if you ever said something wrong, or were too harsh on him when you all first met. (Hell, he'd even rather talk to Walker than you, it seems.)

Okay, maybe it bothers you more than you'll admit.

You've never been one to make friends easily, but when you can't even win the affections of someone who literally has the living embodiment of guilt and resentment fighting for dominance inside of him, then there must be something wrong with you.

But you get on with life. The new version of it, anyway. You train, you go on missions, you sleep, and you do it all again. Occasionally, the team starts to develop into something more important to you. They have your back, and you have theirs.

Still, even with all this, Bob doesn't bite. Not when you offer him coffee, not when you ask him about what book he's reading, and not even when you try to crack jokes about the team's questionable public branding.

So you give up. You keep your head down. But then one day, Yelena asks you to hang back from a mission to keep an eye on Bob, who seems to be in his head more than usual.

"Maybe it'll be good for you two," she says, not unsubtly. "Get to know each other a little."

Great. Now you know everyone has noticed the rift between you.

You stay out of his way, poking your head around the corner ever now and again, catching him sitting in front of the window and looking out at the sky. You know better than to ask him if he's okay, so you stay hidden.

Except one time you look out, expecting to see him there, and he's gone. Shit. You've lost the biggest asset and most dangerous weapon in New York.

You quickly head to his room, certain he's fine, but not wanting to be responsible if he's not.

When you get there, the door is partially open, and you gently push it the rest of the way. The lights are out. You look around, and your heart stops when you see a shadow sitting on the bed. A black silhouette, sitting very still. Your head suddenly fills with memories of that day, when you were forced to relive the most horrific snapshots of your past: revisiting some of your most terrible deeds — ones that you can't outrun, even in your sleep, even now. It’s torture without the pain.

Without thinking, you reach back and pull out your gun, pointing it at the shape. Your hands are steady, but only just. You know from experience bullets will do nothing to stop The Void, but if the team comes back and finds your shadow burned into the ground, you at least want them to know that you fucking tried.

As soon as you do, the shadow moves. "Woah, woah," it says. "It's me." It reaches over and switches on the bedside lamp, illuminating the room in a relieving warm glow. It's just Bob, sitting on his bed, looking rightly panicked.

You immediately stand down, hooking your gun back into place. Your heart is still pounding. "Bob. You scared the shit out of me. I thought you were..." Then you immediately feel bad.

"Sorry," he says. "I just wanted to sit in the dark for a while. I should have thought--"

"No, don't apologize."

When you ask him what’s wrong, he’s cagey. You’ve done this dance before — trying to talk to him and getting little in return. He’s okay, you’re okay, so you give a small grunt and decide to leave.

But he stops you, a guilty look on his face. Finally, he explains. He always feels this way when the team leaves for missions, knowing how dangerous he is but hating knowing everyone is in danger. He wants to help, but has no idea how to harness his powers beyond simply controlling them. He looks up at you, suddenly quieter (if that’s even possible) and says that today feels even worse, because the one person who likes him the least is stuck babysitting him.

“Hold on,” you say. “What do you mean?”

Then it all comes pouring out. Bob thinks you hate him. You think Bob hates you. Neither of you hate each other. The realisation makes you laugh, hard. He doesn’t quite get there, but he does crack a confused smile.

Evidently, your resting bitch face paired with his natural shyness has caused a stalemate.

“Bob, I’ve wanted to be your friend this whole time,” you say, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I just stopped trying because you seemed…I don’t know, scared of me or something.”

“I think I am, just a little.”

“Don’t you have the power of a hundred suns or something?”

“A million exploding suns,” he says casually, shrugging. You don’t really know what to say to that until he cracks a smile, and you realise the only response is another laugh.

“Okay, well, for clarity’s sake, can we be friends now?”

“Yeah, of course,” he says. Emboldened, he holds out his hand. You look at it, remembering what happened the last time you accidentally grabbed his hand a year ago in that damn incinerator. (A trip into the "Void Rooms", even when brief, isn't good.) Your recollection must register on your face, because you see his smile drop. He pulls his hand back, but you know that in order for this to work, he has to trust you. And you have to trust him.

You reach out and grab his hand, gripping it firm in yours, shaking it as he wanted you to. Between your fingers, something is happening. There’s an invisible charge. Can he feel it? You shake it off.

“For what it’s worth,” you tell him. “I don’t see you as a burden. Nobody else around here does, either. I think we need you as much as you need us. And don’t be scared of me, because I’m not scared of you.”

That seems to unlock something in him. His shoulders drop, his chest expands and releases with a loaded, relieved breath, and his hand quickly relaxes in yours.

“Well…” he tears his eyes away from your hands, looking back up at you. “…That’s another person I can add to my very small list.” Another thought crosses his mind, causing the smile to fade.

"What would you have done?" he asks. "If it hadn't been me in here? If it had been...the other me? If I'd dragged you back into that place?"

You feel your fingers flex in your palm by your side. You'd go down fighting, is what would really happen. But you can't say that. You have to say something else: something not as desperate but equally true.

"I would have found you," you tell him. "I would have torn through every memory to find you, Bob. And we'd get out of there, just like we did before. Together."

His brow creases, watching you, ringing his hands, torn by some internal conflict you'll never fully understand. But he does soften still, giving you a grateful nod.

You leave him then, giving him the space he obviously wants. But what you don’t know is that he doesn’t want you to leave. He wants to talk to you, to catch up on getting to know you. There’s so much he missed out on, because he’s stupid, and now he wants to do everything he can to make up for it.

What you also don’t know is that, despite being relieved that you two can now be friends, is that soon, there’ll be a whole new problem.

Soon, just being friends won’t be nearly enough for either of you.

Part 2 (aka: When you realize you're falling in love with Bob, and it sucks.)